


To Desire Perfection

by LadyBinary



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alien Biology, Amnesia, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Body Worship, Breathplay, Consensual Mind Control, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dry Orgasm, Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Gratuitous Smut, Hive Mind, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Light Bondage, Light Sadism, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Blood, Mind Sex, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Predator/Prey, Priest Kink, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Ritual Public Sex, Ritual Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex, Service Submission, Sexual Shame, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Shame, Slow Build, Subspace, Tags Contain Spoilers, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity, Virginity Kink, Voyeurism, Worship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25054756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinary/pseuds/LadyBinary
Summary: A devoted clone seeks freedom from his aberrant thoughts about their ruler. But are these desires really so impure?Prime/Clone; other clones involved. Starts off somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but gets more predatory as it gets steamier. Consensual, but in context of power dynamics and brainwashing/indoctrination, the background predatory vibe is very much deliberate. (Not sure how to tag/warn this, please let me know.)
Relationships: Horde Prime/Horde Prime Clones (She-Ra)
Comments: 112
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I completely understand if most don't enjoy this "unwholesome" vibe; after all, I have TWO [entire](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/620695072382631936/horde-prime-is-a-sexy-bastard-and-thats) separate [essays](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/621098722794848256/touch-as-power-spops-allusions-to-kink-and) on the way Prime's suggestive portrayal illustrates darker thematic points about abuse. 
> 
> Inspired by scenes in season 5 eps 1-5, but set apart from any existing timeline/canon. Separating single long scene into short “chapters” for individual CW. Nothing outright explicit in the first few chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW (this chapter only): Indoctrination/brainwashing, religious language/imagery. Mild shame. Extreme submissive POV. The clones view Prime as their living god, and that over-idealized view is reflected in the writing style.

Blessed purity. Blessed peace.

The nameless Vessel slowly lifts his head from the glowing pool, his mind empty, his hearts light. His past is wiped clean; he can rise anew to stand among his brothers, unburdened. The pain of baptism has already faded, like the memory of whatever aberrant thoughts once caused him so much suffering. The thoughts are gone now - cleansed - leaving only relief in their wake. 

He steps forward through the liquid, cautious. It slides off his white robes with each movement, leaving them immaculate despite the immersion. The cloth is not what slows him, but rather, his weak stride - a side effect of the ritual's intensity. The slope at the edge of the pool becomes more daunting as the water bears less of his weight. He falters, then pauses to steady himself, fixing his gaze on the higher ground in front of him. It would be unseemly to fall in front of an audience. 

A hand reaches down to assist him, palm open. A hand with one armored forefinger.

The vessel hesitates, but then gratefully accepts the support as he steps out of the pool. He keeps his gaze down. Somehow, even now that his thoughts are cleansed, some part of him is nervous to look upon the Prime. A twinge of … something ... threatens the peaceful numbness. Most of his brothers are unafraid to meet that eerie gaze. Why is his instinct to hesitate?

“Rise, honored one.” Prime’s voice is smooth, strong, resonant - echoing through the silent hall and the oddly small cluster of Horde. The Vessel lifts his eyes to survey the glowing stares of his hooded brethren. His memory of entering the chamber with them, just a few minutes earlier, has drifted away in the purifying waters. The feathery touch of the hivemind is placid, unreadable. With an audience of only half a dozen, the ceremony seems more private than expected; and their silence is equally odd. They have done nothing but watch, motionless, some smiling subtly, as if… waiting for something.

Finally, the cleansed one dares to lift his gaze just a few inches further - to the one before him, standing a full head taller and broader than the rest. The Emperor of the Galactic Horde, ruler of the known universe - their progenitor - their creator. 

The sharp, angled face of his exalted ‘Brother’ is so similar to his own, except - somehow _more_ \- more poised, composed, powerful - perfected. Prime’s arched cheekbones are higher, more graceful; silver ear-caps sharpen that curve to a gleaming point. The shine complements thick metallic cables, gathered into his headpiece and draped over his shoulders like flowing hair, giving his towering silhouette a grace that the cowls of his close-coiffed vassals can only mimic. Even those formidable green eyes are more luminous, more keen - the augmentations somehow perfect even in their asymmetry - all four locked on the Vessel in a calm, piercing stare. 

The Prime lifts the corner of his mouth in a gentle smirk - and, in that moment, the returned weight of those aberrant thoughts slams down on the Vessel so hard that his legs falter. Immediately, he drops to a deferent kneel to prevent stumbling... and to hide the flush invading his controlled face. His mind reels. This can’t be happening. He should be _free_ of such afflictions - he should be _pure_ -

“Hmm…” The growing smirk in Prime's voice is audible from above. “That seems to be the _opposite_ of what I asked of you.” 

“Lord Prime…” Vessel feels the flush extending to his lowered ears. He takes a moment to gather his strength, staring at his clenched fingers on the floor. “Please, I beg your forgiveness.”

Light glints off metal accents as the black-shod feet in front of him shift their patient stance. The supplicant swallows as he realizes, with sudden horror, that he has disobeyed a direct order from the Conqueror of Galaxies. 

With a deep breath, he forces his legs beneath him to bear weight, and rises to his feet. He squares his shoulders, forcing his ears to stand at attention with the rest of him, ignoring his trembling instinct to fold them back. As for the neon flush, he can only pray for that to fade from his skin; it takes all his will to lift his face to meet the smirk before him. 

“I understand.” There is no harshness in the Emperor's tone, only gentle amusement. “Purification can be somewhat taxing on the body. I will pardon your… unbalanced state.”

The Vessel's eyes widen in perplexed gratitude. Prime knows his thoughts; he must know the words are a half-truth, an excuse. Is he allowing this one to save face before his Brothers? Or is he simply toying with a broken doll? 

A powerful arm slides around the troubled one’s waist, steadying him. He bites back a gasp. Any of them should feel blessed to be this close to their ruler; but instead, a stab of anxiety lances through his chest as murmurs rise up among the small gathering of his brethren. This closeness… _aches_ . This is _wrong._ It’s not meant to be like this. He’s not meant to - _feel_ like this - 

He drops his eyes to the side again, struggling to regain his composure. Even with the extra support of the arm at his side, he feels about to crumble; he is impure, unworthy of this kindness. There is no hiding that from one who can see his thoughts. Any moment, he knows, Prime will announce the ritual has failed, and have him cast out. Defective. Vessel’s hearts clench in tandem, heavy once more, as a broad hand takes the side of his face and turns it back towards that piercing gaze.

“I would think you'd enjoy this.” Prime’s touch is firm, but not harsh. The cold streak of metal rests gently at Vessel’s cheekbone - no force is needed to hold him in thrall. That smooth, easy smirk does well enough on its own. "Is it not your wish?" 

“I - I only wish to be in your favor.”

Prime lifts an eyebrow. “...And in my arms...” 

Vessel chokes on his reply.

“I see all. I _know_ all.” The smirk widens to a satisfied smile, as Prime’s arm tightens around his devotee. “Rejoice, my 'brother'. You've proven your desire is pure.”

That touch is enthralling, electric - those blazing eyes, hypnotic. Even through the fear, the ache, the shame… Vessel can no longer look askance. The last of his composure, his carefully controlled expression, is slipping away. Further sin, further weakness - to express emotion is a privilege reserved only for the one before him - yet, his own feelings overwhelm his pale face. 

“It… it should have been cast out… ” His weak attempt trails off at that searing smile. 

“Should it?”

Their living god leans in closer, casting Vessel’s face in shadow. His words drop to a silky murmur.

“It is no sin to _desire perfection._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, "Brother", for I have sinned. 
> 
> To be continued (against all decency and better judgment).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: More overtly steamy, but not yet explicit. Very D/s vibes. Mild use of force with implied consent. Brief mind invasion (consensual).

Sluggishly, Vessel’s mind catches up to the way the Prime has pulled him close - the warmth of cobalt skin, thick muscles pressing against his tensed body - firm hands holding him by the waist and jaw. As awareness sets in, that solid grip is soon the only thing keeping him on his feet. 

“Bear no shame, my brethren.” The Emperor's resonant voice fills the room once more as he lifts his head to address the small gathering. An almost musical expressiveness contours his tone, as if reciting an ancient scripture. “You, who are crafted in my image… you, whose deepest instinct is to seek my favor… you who pledge your wills, your bodies, even your life force to my name…” 

The hand on Vessel’s face moves upward, stroking over his head and down the back of his skull. The dazed servant can’t seem to break his reverent stare. He shivers involuntarily, ears twitching, as light fingers brush the nape of his neck - caressing the vulnerable port.

“It is only natural that some pine to serve me on a more…” Prime’s voice lowers slightly, tinged with amusement. “ _…intimate_ level.” 

The broad palm settles behind Vessel’s neck, tender, reassuring. Rapture. Bliss. Helpless, the reverent one lets his eyes fall closed, not far from swooning in their ruler’s arms. Gratitude swells in his chest. The attention is far too generous for this flawed creature - but if Prime wills it, who is he to question that will? The Regent of the Seven Skies has deemed him worthy of affection, and Vessel wants to savor every moment. He feels almost as if the gentle touch is prying off tendrils of fear, one by one - slowly freeing his taut neck and shoulders from tension’s grip.

“Only a few have the courage to present me this suffering, and ask for freedom,” the Prime continues. Vessel looks up to those gleaming eyes as they slowly scan the group - watches the secondary pair flicking around, independent of Prime's steady gaze. “These purest few… are beloved in my sight.”

The hooded figures stand straighter. Vessel's ears prickle under their rapt attention - and their soft, knowing smiles. He can almost _feel_ that quiet ripple of pleasure in the hivemind's gossamer caress. Something clenches inside him. Dare he even _hope_ to be among the few chosen, basking in the light of Prime’s favor?

“It was very brave of you to come to me.” Prime's voice lowers to a smooth, sweet timbre as his main pair of eyes turns back to his subject’s face. The honeyed tone is somehow both exhilarating and terrifying at once. Vessel knows it well. It's a tone he's often heard the Prime use with prisoners - toying with his helpless conquests - occasionally, just before having one launched out an airlock. This is the tone of one savoring the taste of power. 

Only, in this case… the conquest is all but _aching_ to surrender.

As Vessel gazes breathlessly up at perfection, he feels the hand at his neck shift, ever so sightly… from a gentle weight to a firm grip. His soft, shaky gasp audibly betrays the accompanying shiver that shoots down his spine. He could never hide the trembling anyway, with his body pressed so tight against the firm fullness of his lord’s chest. The grip on his neck draws him even closer, lifting his head until their faces are mere inches apart - his hearts flail wildly, competing to leap from his chest -

The Prime stares straight into his soul, and smiles. 

“Those who seek release will be granted it,” says Prime, in that low, silky purr. Four green eyes consume Vessel’s vision, stripping open his mind - his every thought, laid bare. The soft voice resonates through his skull. “You have earned my favor… and the _true_ release you desire.”

Without another word, the Prime - their emperor, their living god - revered one of the shining galaxies and promised one of a thousand suns - closes the distance, and meets the Vessel's lips with force. 

The burning stars could only _dream_ of such power.

The kiss is deep, assertive, inevitable. A crush of lips pushes Vessel’s head back against that iron grip - capturing him - _consuming_ him. It sends his mind and pulse reeling; only those, for his body is locked in place by powerful arms. He falls helplessly still, transfixed.

His hands twitch at his sides, unsure if he should return the embrace. Does he dare touch the Emperor with such familiarity? Such thoughts are turning to liquid, dissolving into mindless bliss, leaving no more trace than the pool left on his robes. His body melts along with his mind. 

Being kissed, apparently, is an effective form of purification. 

As he gives in, the force of the kiss abates. Softening lips reward his submission, moving slowly, languidly against his own, savoring the victory. Savoring _him._ Somehow, the gentler motions are even _more_ captivating than the initial crushing force. Prime’s consciousness is only the barest brush against the edges of his mind, stroking, _teasing;_ but the way Vessel’s trembling body yields beneath those lips, no exertion of will is needed.

Slowly, after a few endless moments, the silken mouth withdraws. Instinct pulls the captured prey to follow, drawing his face unconsciously forward - only halted by the unyielding grip on his neck. A soft whimper escapes him. In reply, the sound of Prime's slow exhale morphs into a throaty chuckle.

Vessel blinks, only now realizing his eyes have fallen closed. As his vision clears, his neon flush redoubles. That asymmetrical gaze has taken on a predatory, almost _hungry_ glint - and, around the room, the eyes of their private audience burn into him with equal intensity.

Prime lifts his head to survey the stares; that hawkish gleam in his own never wavers. A razor-sharp smile grows to match it. In that moment, feeling the brush of excitement through the hivemind, Vessel realizes that their onlookers may not be just a passive audience after all...

The Prime extends an arm to the gathering, and crooks his armored finger. "Chosen. Step forward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued. Chapter 3 is well underway and it looks like the explicit part won't be until chapter 4. [Edit: Make that 5 eheheh]
> 
> Particularly since I'm planning some gratuitous creative liberties with Prime's possession powers it would be useful to know whether anyone's actually enjoying this creepy/dubcon vibe before I continue. I can imagine many would not.  
> [Edit: many thanks for the encouragement! <3]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Extreme submissive POV with religious tone, implied reluctance / dubious consent to being undressed by group; mind control with implied consent; creepy Dom vibes.
> 
> Shoutout to Yunta's [absolutely gorgeous SFW art](https://twitter.com/yunta_0722/status/1275070088245178378) of the clones fitting a new Brother with his robes. It's completely platonic yet I found it *incredibly* hot... I do have a Thing for competent "attendants". I was definitely feeling that vibe while writing this chapter.

The Emperor’s steely grip holds Vessel in place behind the neck - with just enough lift to keep him upright, now that the arm around his body is gone. As the hooded congregation converges, Prime steps forward as well, bearing Vessel to the nearest wall. The smaller of the two barely manages the walk on half-responsive legs. When the hand finally releases his spine, Vessel leans back against the angled surface with a barely-suppressed whimper - unsure if the stifled sound in his throat is one of relief, or loss. 

Behind him is the swish of robes as Prime steps back. Vessel lifts his head in confusion. Their leader stands in the center of the group, arms spread regally, sweeping his gaze to address those he called ‘Chosen’. His words have the curt, careless air of a routine command, as if simply asking for a report: 

“Disrobe us.”

Without a breath of hesitation - as if the order is anticipated, _expected_ \- the Chosen move to obey. 

Vessel’s eyes go wide as a trio of his brethren turn to him. He opens his mouth to speak, manages a wordless whimper, and falls silent again. His approaching handlers grant him triplicate smiles beneath their hoods. 

No… not quite triplicate. As one steps close, sliding a hand beneath the edge of his cowl, their eyes meet; there is no sign of possession's telltale glow in the gentle gaze. This one’s expression is warm, a little cheeky - almost reassuring. The two stepping in to flank him wear - respectively - a soft, encouraging smile, and a devious smirk. For the moment, at least, their smiles are their own. 

He bears little concept of modesty before his identical Brothers. Still, to him, it seems… _unthinkable_ to shed the sigil of the Horde. His robes, his uniform, mark him in the Prime’s allegiance - he would have thought it blasphemy to cast them off in front of the god himself. And yet... Prime's words are the will of the universe, the law of the suns and stars. His will alone defines blessed from blasphemous. 

And his will, it seems, stands steady. The Emperor calmly holds that open, regal stance - allowing access - as three attendants move with graceful efficiency around him. Though their figures obscure the view, their task is made clear by the hymnal sounds of metallic clicks and shifting cloth. 

Vessel takes a deep breath, then slowly releases it. If it is Prime's decree, then all is well. He closes his eyes, and accedes to six gentle hands. 

It should be no different than being disrobed for routine medical maintenance; yet something still flutters inside him as light fingers brush his waist, his shoulders, his chest. The clasps of his cowl release with a _click,_ and its weight slides from his shoulders - replaced by a pair of hands that linger there for a moment before sliding behind his neck. 

Though his eyes are closed, he can feel the soft breath on his cheek as the one in the center moves in. Deft fingers undo his tabard's collar, then trail down to brush beneath the loosened cloth, stroking the thinner underlayer along his spine. Vessel bites back the tiny noise in his throat. The shiver, however, he cannot suppress.

The one at the front steps back, letting his hands brush back over Vessel's shoulders as he withdraws. At either side of Vessel's waist, two more pairs of hands release his tabard clasps. He feels their touch slide beneath the cloth, following the open slits up his thighs. From embedded knowledge of more routine procedures, he knows to anticipate the hands on each side that hook into the slits' apex at his hips, and draw upward to part the fabric along the join. He is comparatively unprepared for the soft yet deliberate stroke along one hipbone and up his waist - courtesy of the attendant with the smirk. This time, the throaty noise escapes him.

His ears pickle with warmth; the heated flush further deepens his twinge of shame at such lack of control, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He presses his arms back against the wall, hoping the support will help him regain his composure. This is… definitely _not_ the same as disrobing for maintenance. 

At his opposite side, the softer attendant reassures him with a soft thrum. His tabard, now split up the sides to his shoulders, gives no resistance as the two flanking Brothers lift it over his head. Only the skintight black underlayer remains, a thinner material that does little to shield his skin from the soft sensation of the central pair of hands sliding up his chest towards his throat. The noise attempts to break through again; with effort, he manages to suppress it. 

The slight twitch of the hands on his chest is his only warning, before the presence against him… _shifts._ Vessel’s eyes snap open with a gasp. Even before he meets the acolyte’s gaze, he knows. He can _feel_ the sense of power, emanating from the other’s body like radiant light. The careful, gentle body language is gone; the one before him, having merely dropped his hood, has grown seemingly a head taller and broader by sheer presence alone. Once-delicate hands flex indecently against his chest. The glow in the acolyte’s eyes, and his seductive smirk, only confirm what was already obvious. 

“Ah, yes… this is a _cheeky_ one,” purrs the acolyte. He speaks in unison with the Prime, some feet away - still with his back turned, hidden by his three attendants. The Prime and his Acolyte share a single, resonant voice. “Has he been _teasing_ you?”

Trembling, Vessel turns his gaze to the voice’s origin. As the other attendants step away, a looser robe settles over Lord Prime's broad shoulders; he lowers his arms to let it fall partway, draping from his biceps across his lower back. The glistening silk forms the familiar skirted silhouette, but leaves his upper half exposed. With a series of clicks and pneumatic hissing, detached cables reinsert themselves into the array of ports studding his muscular back. 

The possessed Acolyte recaptures the Vessel’s attention with a wide, fanged grin. Vessel swallows as one finger trails up his throat. That silky dual voice continues: “He does have the right idea… but if I can’t hear you moan, he’s being too _gentle._ ”

The hand on his chest flexes again, squeezing his pectoral muscle with a firmness just short of pain. He instinctively bites back another whimper, and the Acolyte softly laughs along with Prime. “Ahh, never mind. It’s your voice that is shy.”

The Acolyte’s body moves forward, pressing in close - pinning the Vessel back against the wall. Strong hands slide beneath the hem of the tight underlayer’s shirt, catching it and pulling it upward as they move firmly up his body. Claws graze his bare skin, ever so slightly, drawing a shuddering gasp. 

“Better… but not quite.” With a swift motion, the Acolyte pushes Vessel’s arms up; for a moment, black fabric obscures that fanged grin as the shirt is pulled over his head. He finds himself pinned that way, wrists above his head and pressed back against the wall, tight cloth trapping his forearms - and those glowing eyes filling his vision, leaning in close to his own. 

“Indulge me,” the Acolyte purrs with the Prime. “I want to _hear_ what I’m doing to you.”

The clawed grip squeezes his wrists; the cowled body presses firm against his own bare skin. A moment later, equally firm, lips follow. 

Overcome, hearts pounding, Vessel is helpless to resist his own open-throated moan - drawn out from deep within his chest by the aggressive kiss. The indelicate sound is rewarded by Prime’s soft laugh in stereo - one voice against his lips, and the other, just inches from his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued. I'm pretty sure chapter 4 is where it finally gets, uh, "juicy". [Edit: nvm we're still in the buildup but it's *hot*]
> 
> Many thanks for encouragement; it's deeply appreciated. Plz help me build up the nerve to get freeky with it. 😅


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Bodily possession as a sexual tool; biting; problematically dubious treatment of consent. 
> 
> With POV, I can allude to the authorial intent that the subject is all for it and just very shy; but this applies only to fiction. Regardless of mind-reading, Prime shows a disregard for consent communication which I do NOT intend to condone - writing him more considerate would be out of character.

The warm breath at Vessel's ear draws a twitch of shock. With a tiny gasp, he jerks his head to the right - and freezes there, captured by the sudden closeness of Prime's asymmetrical gaze. 

The Prime - _both_ of him - chuckles again. Vessel feels cold steel curl around his right wrist, relieving the Acolyte of that side - pinning his forearm to the wall in a mirror stance to the clone. The cowled body remains, warm and firm against his bare chest, holding him still. 

Affectionately, Prime's nearer hand strokes the shivering, still-warm ear between his thumb and second finger. In unison, the Acolyte reflects the action on the left - and the lazy flick to the ear's tip that follows. A strained, tiny keening noise crawls out from Vessel's throat. 

“We will have to work on that timid voice of yours,” murmur the two Primes in each ear. “I reward a certain _boldness_ in my flock. After all, that is why you are here.”

Vessel's breath comes in shallow, uneven stutters. His eyes dart back and forth between the two, unsure which Prime to look at; their eyes differ, but their smiles reflect in perfect symmetry. In the background, the other Chosen lurk, their watching eyes ablaze in the hooded shadows of their cowls. 

The symmetry finally breaks when one metal-clawed hand takes Vessel's chin, lifting it to face its owner. The Acolyte takes on a blank expression, straightening to a neutral stance with his hand resting on Vessel’s bare chest - though the mirrored grip on his wrist remains. This time, only the true Prime speaks; his face is calm, assured. “I know all. _You_ came to me, my Chosen.”

At that last word, Vessel's eyes flutter closed. _Chosen_. It swells in his chest like a hymn of absolution. 

He _had_ come of his own volition… though assumedly for the sake of peace. His glance flits briefly to the glowing pool, its presence still commanding the center of the chamber. Its surface is unnaturally still - a deceptive calm that belies the agony of those who give themselves to its waters. Yet, what is a fleeting moment of pain, to the purity that emerges from its cleansing flame? The light of Horde Prime sears away all lingering shadows of suffering.

Tendrils of consciousness stroke the back of his mind. The Emperor straightens to look down upon the two clones from his full height, still holding the pinned one by the jaw. His secondary eyes follow Vessel's thoughts to the room's center, where salvation lurks. 

“Your trial is past. I have witnessed your devotion, my soft-spoken ‘Brother’.” He strokes the smooth steely side of a talon beneath Vessel's chin, and smirks at the resulting whine. 

The whine sharpens and trails off as Prime angles that claw upward, brushing its sharpened tip ever so gently against that most vulnerable flesh. “It would be a waste…” he murmurs, “not to _act_ on it, don’t you think?” 

For the first time since tasting his creator's lips, Vessel manages to breathe a single word: “Y… Yes…” 

His eyes close for a moment once more, daring to trust the cold steel point as his reverent sigh deepens. Prime’s favor. His _touch…_

_His bed?_ whispers a tiny, secret voice in the deepest parts of his mind. The unbidden thought sends a wild jolt through his gut. He swallows hard, grateful that the clawed hand has taken that moment to return to its steadier grip on his jaw. 

Prime leans in again, close, so close - four half-lidded eyes lock on for a moment, gazing intently, then disappear to the right - his breath is warm as his lips brush Vessel's ear - “Then let me hear you _moan_ for me, shy one.”

Vessel shivers and inhales, slowly, deeply. He gives a careful flex of his hands against that powerful grip, drawing the nerve to obey his Emperor's difficult command. Then, another hand appears at his neck - he briefly glimpses the fanged grin returning to the Acolyte's face before ducking out of view to the left - then, lips, not on his ear, but on his _throat_ \- mirrored once more, soft feathering lips to either side, then wet heat, as twin tongues slide up the tensed muscle _-_ and _teeth-!_

For the second time that hour, Vessel disobeys a direct order from the ruler of the Imperial Horde. He does not moan. He _keens_ \- a loud, long, wordless cry that echoes through the chamber. 

At his throat, the true Prime _growls._

Vessel's stomach clenches at his unbidden error, and the sudden savagery of the sound. The grip on his chin tightens, yanking his face to the side - the bestial look in those asymmetrical eyes so terrifying that for a moment he braces himself to be torn apart - and then Prime is kissing him, _hard._

Vessel yelps into the kiss, but another long lick to his throat from the Acolyte pulls the sound into a high moan. One of his wrists is released - but he doesn't dare move it - as Prime's powerful hand drops to the back of his head, pulling him in deeper, forcing his mouth open to the invading tongue. The Acolyte's free hand is cradling the opposite side of his neck, holding it steady against the fangs nipping at his collarbone - the crook of his neck - and then, hot tongue slick against his bare shoulder as teeth find the muscle and _grip_ \- Vessel cries out again, the wild sound muffled by the kiss, and Prime's deep growl is louder this time, his clawed fingers digging into Vessel's skull and chin - the kiss breaks as a word forms through the distorted voice - “ _Yeesss_.”

In all his - admittedly clouded - memory, Vessel knows not a single moment when the Conqueror of Galaxies has lost even a fraction of his composure. That silky poise is eternal, unshakable. Thus, when the panting clone opens his eyes, they immediately widen in shock - at the sight of their god's immovable chest rising and falling with deepened breaths. The savage gleam in those eyes has only intensified, but now (with thudding hearts) Vessel recognizes its source - not fury, but _fervor_. The Prime stares down at him with open lust, showing no sign of self-consciousness at the hint of color tipping his ears. His resonant voice is husky when he finally speaks. 

“Might I add, for the near future…” he breathes, “...screams work as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEP, PRIME'S KINKY in case that wasn't already obvious *from canon* ahahah
> 
> Bit of a short chapter because I've already written a significant portion of the next bit, but realized this was a good transition moment, since the mood gets IMMEDIATELY lewder from here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Things start to get explicitly sexual from here, in a way that continues to be not particularly wholesome or sweet. Mildly alien anatomy. 
> 
> I'd be more specific on CW, but that starts to feel a bit spoilery regarding creative use of Prime's powers. Hopefully by now we all know what we're getting into.

It is fortunate that indecorum seems acceptable; for the Vessel has by this point become a flushed, panting mess. If anything, Lord Prime appears to _enjoy_ his thrall's flustered state. Low thrums of approval follow the pinned clone's incoherent sounds, as Prime and his Acolyte slide mirrored hands down his exposed skin. His body squirms, helpless, against the powerful Presence cast over him - from his possessed "brother", from the silk-draped Prime himself, and from the willful tendrils of thought lapping at the edges of his mind. 

One presence against Vessel shifts, as Prime withdraws from the Acolyte - _slowly._ Vessel feels a shiver run through the cowled figure pressed against him. Then, the glow in Prime's eyes intensifies, and there is a soft gasp against Vessel's throat - the hand at his wrist falls to his shoulder, holding tight to him with a shaking grip - the acolyte twitches, _spasms_ , dropping his face to Vessel’s chest - and gives a long, drawn-out, shuddering moan. 

The sound could be mistaken for longing, or pain - if not for the vibrant flush, the wantonly twitching ears, and the look of rapture in the half-hidden face. Vessel cautiously lowers his now-freed arms to support the unsteady frame, barely managing to stop his “brother” from sliding weakly down his chest. His own state is hardly more composed; his cheeks and ears burn with a matching hue, his breath ragged, his hearts fluttering wildly… to say nothing of the surge of heat pulsing insistently below his hips. 

It is high privilege just to _witness_ such overwhelming power - to _feel_ the other’s unmistakable climax against him, with just a thought from their Emperor. Vessel whispers a reverent invective, voice husky with awe, as he stares over the shoulder of his trembling kin. The Prime looms above them with a satisfied grin. The heavier breathing in his broad, bare chest is the only mark upon his effortless poise. So _this_ is the virility of a God. 

“A parting gift… for my _use_ of his body.” Prime extends a hand to keenly stroke the acolyte’s spine, deepening the shudder. He wraps his hand around the back of the shivering neck, bearing him upwards as he’d done for Vessel not long before. This time, the one in his grip goes completely limp, panting weakly, head falling backward over his hand. Prime shows no sign of effort as he lifts the spent figure from Vessel’s unsteady hold. He simply chuckles, and drapes his prize over his arm like the folds of his robe. His voice is returning to its usual silky tone. “This one… may need some time to _recover_. Somewhere comfortable, hmm?”

The attendants that had been flanking Vessel peel off to collect their companion. Prime grants them the most beatific of smiles as they relieve his arm of its burden, supporting the acolyte on their shoulders. Hand thus freed, he brushes the soft one's cheek with the back of his armored claw, and smirks fondly at the departing trio. 

"I trust you'll enjoy the private suite nearby," he says after them. "You may rest there and await my summons…" 

His secondary eyes flick to Vessel. The smirk widens to show his fangs. "...While I ready this one for my blessing."

Vessel whimpers; weak-kneed, he slowly slides down the wall himself.

"Ah, I see you have the right idea." Prime looks down, and regards Vessel's flushed face with approval. He rests a hand gently atop the meek one's head. "Kneel."

Though no force is applied, it may just as well be a shove. Vessel drops instantly to his knees. He stares up, wide-eyed, at his creator's face; the hand remains, stroking his hair. The cobalt skin across that powerful chest nearly gleams from this angle, backlit by the glowing green pool. Vessel closes his eyes and trills at the fingers in his hair. Unbidden, the memory of the Acolyte convulsing against him flits through his mind, sending a spasm of apprehension through his gut. He swallows, pushing it down. He dare not hope for his Brother to enter him thus. 

The mental tendrils swirl. "Not yet, shy one," purrs Prime. "Not _quite_ yet. I did enjoy that one's body… but I will have a more _thorough_ use of yours."

It is not a request, or a preference. It is a statement of fact - an inevitability. 

Not _yet_. But soon. The thought is overwhelming. To be used - _claimed_ \- to give his body not just as a vessel, but an object of _pleasure_ \- implausible, unimaginable, even in his unlikeliest fantasies of giving himself over as the Prime's next permanent Host. 

With a flick of his wrist, Prime releases the silk folds at his waist. The robe falls open at the front with a liquidy ripple. Vessel's eyes drop immediately from Prime's face, to the sight before his own - and then further, to the floor, as his breath halts in his throat. Of _course_ that towering frame would intimidate in _every_ way. Of _course_ his most perfect Brother would be... perfect. What fool could expect any less? This is, after all, the Prime. 

The Prime - standing tall, regal, and _full_ before him. 

Vessel steels his nerves, and forces his eyes back up, to where the smooth cobalt skin breaks into deep blue. The azure shaft is fully emerged from its sheath, glistening in the green-tinged light, thick and powerful. Its intimidating size is fitting against the Emperor's superior height and breadth. Vessel swallows, eyes wide, staring at the vision. Perfection incarnate. 

And he - _he_ is allowed - no, _bidden_ \- to _touch_ this? 

Tentatively, he lifts a shaking hand towards Prime. He glances upward to his ruler's eyes. That intense, bestial look is returning, breath deepening. Beneath, the smile of approval remains. 

Prime's hand strokes down to the back of Vessel's head, and gives an assertive hint of pressure. Forward. The command is as clear as if it were spoken into his mind: he is bidden not only to touch, but to _taste._

"I believe… you know what to do," murmurs Prime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC - get ready for more Fun With Alien Anatomy and Creative Possession :D
> 
> Confession time. Ch6 might take a bit. Since this is my first smut featuring a male sub, it's also the first time I've written oral on a male (it feels a bit degrading to write submissive oral, and I don't enjoy that vibe with female subs). 
> 
> Thanks for your patience as I work up the nerve and figure out what I'm doing. In the meantime, I'm posting plenty of silly crackship arts on my Tumblr. ❤️


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Submissive oral, alien anatomy.  
> Also, religious vibes and mild shame, but that's pretty much a given in this fic by now.

“I believe… you know what to do.” 

The Vessel is not certain that he does. Surely, he has never done this before? His memories are clouded over, so… there is a chance, in the past, perhaps with a fellow “brother”... but… surely, _never_ the Emperor himself. This, before his eyes - this is surely forbidden, elevated beyond reach. This is _sacred._

His lips are so close, halting breaths fall on the glistening shaft; it gives a visible twitch in response. What if he _doesn’t_ know what to do? What if he fails to give pleasure? What if - the horrifying thought snakes in - what if his unskilled efforts _displease_ the Prime? He squeezes his eyes shut against the anxiety twisting deep in his belly. If he causes discomfort - or, stars forbid, _pain_ \- the most heinous of punishments would only be a relief from his own inner torture.

From above him comes a soft, low, throaty sound. The hand on the back of his head shifts as another takes the side of his face, tilting his head upward. He obeys, forbidding his gaze from lingering as it travels up the exquisitely contoured body. No, he will _not_ stare at the V-shaped hip lines melting into taut core muscles, or the tapered waist that widens into the familiar swell of sculpted chest - that always-exposed expanse of cobalt skin has _no_ reason to still be so captivating, the way it rises and falls with each breath, shifting the metallic glint of embedded cables, echoed by powerful shoulders as broad as the Empire’s reach -

Four piercing eyes snare his own, gleaming down at him from far above. Prime holds that gaze, and gives a quiet smirk at Vessel's open-mouthed awe. “Such a _devoted_ one…” he murmurs huskily. “So precious... the way you _dissolve_ beneath my light...”

His hands shift to either side of Vessel’s face, thumbs stroking over his ears before pressing into his cheekbones. The hold wraps around his cheeks and behind his head - gripping him firmly, intimately. It is the all-consuming pose of a mind meld. Vessel stares upward, transfixed, readying himself. Any moment, now, the Presence will push past his mind's fragile borders… 

Instead, the intimate grip tightens, then pulls his head forward with sudden force - and an entirely different flavor of Presence pushes past the borders of his lips.

Prime fills his mouth, a thick core of hot steel wrapped in liquid silk. Vessel gives a muffled cry of surprise around the invasion; the noise earns a thrumm of approval from above. Mercifully, the firm hands pull him no further. The pause allows him time to adapt, though perhaps not for reasons entirely altruistic; never has he felt so conscious of his own prominent fangs. With care, he adjusts his jaw. Prime’s grip on his face loosens slightly to allow the movement. A flicker of pleasure flits through him at the slick sensation on his lips, wrapped around the hot swell...

Tentatively, he flexes his tongue against acidic sweetness. The taste of arousal is complex, heady, a thick fluid that tingles warmly in his mouth. The tapered head is pressed to the back of his tongue, and he presses back experimentally, feeling the heat spread to his throat as he swallows. Prime rewards his boldness by stroking his cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. Another low thrumming sound emerges from above - this one closer to a growl. 

Though his living memory is obscured, his base implanted knowledge remains... as do his instincts. The fullness in his mouth, the pulsing heat, the taste of sex - and the _sound_ his own mouth has just drawn from his exalted Brother - inside himself, he feels something… _shift_. Tendrils of warmth unfurl from his core, blooming, spreading, and bringing with them an aching _need_ to hear that praise again. A need for _more._

He tries to press forward, succeeding only in a weak shift that pushes the head against the back of his mouth. The thrumm from Prime morphs into a soft laugh this time. Mercifully, despite the Vessel's lack of technique, the Emperor seems to be granting him a generous amount of patience. Perhaps the sight of such earnest attempts to please him is amusing. Still, his hands withdraw, removing their blessed warmth from Vessel's cheeks - leaving an aching desire to earn that affection once more. 

At this angle, Vessel's lips cannot reach the base - not even close. To force more in, he needs an anchor, a stable hold… the floor beneath him is featureless; Lord Prime's own body is the only place to grip. 

His hands twitch at the thought. To _touch_ the living god’s naked skin… his mind screams that it is forbidden, and yet… he is _tasting_ this most sacred, hidden part of him. As if to confirm, the shaft twitches against his curling tongue, and that blooming warmth pulses inside. 

He dares to lift his hands to Prime - slowly - opening his eyes to look up, hesitant, as his fingers hover above the muscled thighs. He cannot speak the question while his mouth is occupied, but asks it with his eyes. Is such impiety allowed, in the name of honoring his god? 

Prime lifts an eyebrow; the motion squints the extra eye on that side. He pauses before speaking; that husky edge is stronger, rougher. “Yes, ‘brother’. My Chosen alone are permitted to touch freely. _Savor_ the privilege I have granted you.”

That word again. _Chosen._ The blooming heat spreads up into his chest with a swell of joy, and resolve. He will _not_ shrink from this light, or squander its favor. He will make his Creator _proud._

His trembling hands come to rest on either side of Prime's furrowed hips. Warmth fills his palms, and his chest; his ruler stands steady and strong, as poised in the nude as he ever was in his elegant Imperial robes. Somehow, the signs of arousal only make him more imposing. That seductive sheen glistens thick at the inner edge of his sheath, seeping out to coat the shaft stretching open its slit - and Vessel's lips. The taste of it is intoxicating. 

He steels his nerves, drawing a deep breath through his nasal hollow, closing his eyes. The hot shape in his mouth pulses encouragingly as he slides his lips back along what length he has managed. He will do better this time. 

The Vessel braces against that steady frame with his hands - gives a determined effort to relax his jaw and throat - and then, _shoves_ himself forward around Prime's cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #SorryNotSorry for dragging everything out so slow. Loves me that slow burn. My poor readers; I'm a merciless tease. 
> 
> Also because this is getting legitimately tough to write now that it's finally getting explicit. Chapter updates will likely be slower. I am determined to finish though... however many (teasingly short) chapters that takes. xD


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Oral ain't easy, yall. This chapter by necessity is a bit rougher (mostly self-inflicted, as I'm writing Prime so patient it borders on OOC). 
> 
> Pain/choking, mild shame, mild force. Religious overtones.

The reflexive clench in Vessel's throat, the overwhelming instinct to withdraw, is immediate - but so, too, is the satisfied growl from above. _“Yes.”_

A swell of joy drowns out his pain. This _pleases_ the Prime. That warmth in his chest and core surges. He tightens his hands on Prime's hips, using that grip to force his head further forward. He _will_ earn that touch again, the steadying hold around his head, he _needs_ it - 

At the moment, unfortunately, he needs his lungs more. His body rebels against his will, choked by the unyielding fullness in his throat; an uncontrollable reflex drags him back for air. 

He coughs and gasps violently the moment his mouth is clear. Shock floods in with his breath - and a twinge of shame - when Prime's hand settles on his head. As he opens his eyes, he finds himself trembling beneath the spread palm. It holds his head back - barred from his challenge. 

“You are granted a moment to breathe.” The generosity in those words is almost as heady as their breathy edge of arousal. The hand allows him just a slight lean forward. “Taste, shy one. Exalt me with your tongue.”

With relief, he obliges, sliding his mouth over the tapered azure head. He pauses at the first ridge to hesitantly tongue the surface. Fingers twine into his hair, reassuring him. The slick heat feels familiar, like returning to a lost comfort, as he begins to explore Prime's shape. 

Vessel's tongue follows the studded centerline down the underside of the shaft. His hands slowly un-tense, as both his palms and his mouth drink in the warmth of divine skin. Firm ridges curve out from the groove, catching his lips as he draws in with his mouth. Somehow, it feels almost calming to trace the raised paths; he lets his eyes fall closed, relaxing into the reverent motions of his tongue. 

The Emperor gives a soft thrum that resonates through his own bowed frame. Vessel presses forward against Prime’s palm, echoing the sound with with a quiet hum of rapture. His head feels light - his scalp tingles at the slight graze of claws, unsure if they pose a blessing or a threat - but the touch remains gentle, stroking through his hair. It sends tiny shivers of pleasure down the back of his neck. Then, a breath later, it is gone.

His hum takes on the slightest edge of a whimper at the hand’s disappearance. He dares a glance up; his lord’s breathing has calmed, but the eyes still gleam with that piercing stare. In Vessel’s peripheral vision, his brothers remain silent, watching - several of them, smirking. 

His already-flushed face surges with heat. His reprieve has gone on long enough. His throat’s first attempt was inadequate - he will do better. He _must_ do better. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, fills his lungs with a gasp, and dives forward. This time, his determination holds true. Pressing heat pulses against his tongue as he takes the heavy shaft deep into his throat. The Prime rewards his courage with a drawn-out growl - this one lower, baser - and _sharper_.

Vessel whimpers, shudders, but pushes down the fluttering in his throat to press further. And then - the _warmth_ returns, those huge palms taking the sides of his face, engulfing him. A soft caress brushes the corners of his watering eyes, spreading streaks of wetness over his cheekbones. Vessel gives a weak, muffled moan. Favor regained. _Bliss_. The ache is forgotten; only the tingling pulse remains, filling his spread mouth and throat with the sweet-acid taste of desire. 

"Devoted one… your struggle honors me." Prime's resonant voice is less even, showing the slightest hint of strain. "Move with me now."

To emphasize, he shifts Vessel's head with his hands. The pulsing heat withdraws from his devotee's throat; then, with slow but unyielding force, pushes back inside. 

Vessel whines in his chest at the tightness, the sliding - the _ridges_ against his flesh. Clenching spasms threaten to close him off. Though every muscle in his body strains with the effort, he does not allow his throat to fight against his God. His eyes burn with springing tears - but his chest swells with pride. His struggle is worthy of _praise_ from his exalted Brother. No transient discomfort can dispel this joy. 

Trembling, he follows Prime's lead, and moves his head along with the guiding hands. Some instinct, a desperate need for focus, curls his own hand into a fist against Prime's bare hip. His tucked claws dig into his palm. The pain clears his mind for a moment, easing his tension - yielding just enough to honor his command. 

As he pumps slowly along the shaft, more instinct stirs, somehow familiar. Blessedly, the spasms start to settle as he squeezes his fist. The next upstroke allows him to sneak in a quick breath. He works his tongue and tight-wrapped lips at the end of each push, determined to reach that much more. 

Prime chuckles above him in that husky, breathy voice. "Good, shy one. Continue with your tongue. And…" One hand slides down from Vessel's head, beneath his jaw, to curl around his aching throat. The fingers find either side of the swell inside and stroke, massaging downwards. "... Swallow."

Helpless, his throat obeys. Prime gives a rough exhale in reply. It stokes the Vessel, ignites him - he grips his fist tighter, claws sinking into his own flesh - somehow, the pain stops the choking sensation from overpowering his strength. His memories are lost, yet his body, his instincts, know what to do - as if a dormant secret is stirring from his very muscles and nerves. 

_Flashes of a distant dream - or is it a fantasy? His closest brothers, Prime's Chosen, are piled around him, over him. Their naked flesh shudders against his own, twined amidst thick cables locked into their ports - a chorus of gasps and moans - and he in a slow writhe, whimpering, as ecstasy bypasses mere physical sensation - flooding straight from his brainstem -_

He shivers and whines around Prime's cock. The image is too much, too indulgent. His creator is wise not to indulge such base selfishness in the clones. Their role is to serve, not to wallow in pleasures. The exalted one’s heavy breaths - the resonant growls in time with the pulsing heat - the warm, intimate grip on Vessel’s head - these pleasures already threaten to melt his fragile will. 

At the next downstroke, he swallows again, this time deliberate. Beneath his hands, tensed on Prime's hips, taut muscles _twitch_ \- and the movement is echoed by the full shape in his throat. That blooming heat, deep in his core, surges again - excitement - he moves to pull back and repeat the stroke, building pace - still clenching and trembling around the wide shaft, but now, with more control - _using_ his strain to massage its length - the slick, rhythmic sounds are so indecent, so _lewd_ , yet there is no shame in the Emperor's rooted stance - nor in the heady sound of a deep, unrestrained _groan._

Vessel echoes that groan with a shaky, obstructed one of his own. To _hear_ his blessed Brother express pleasure so intensely - the wordless praise is his opiate. 

The Prime groans again, warm and resonant. The thrilling sound draws forth another unbidden fantasy, immodest images surging in his mind. The sudden flash of obscenity slams into the Vessel with a gut-clenching surge of shock.

_Splayed back against Prime in the throne room, thighs wrenched up and apart by huge hands from below - he moans with abandon - insides quaking with each upward thrust -_

Shock, shame, and _thrill_ flail in his core as he fails to banish the thought. A strained, helpless keen tries to escape his blocked throat. The sound is cut back as Prime's powerful grip stills his head, holding him in place - fingers twitch against his scalp - he hears a drawn-out, uneven breath - and the single, rough-edged word, “...Enough.”

Icy horror cuts clean through those tendrils of heat. He freezes in place. The twitching shaft withdraws, leaving his throat bereft and spasming. Has he displeased the Emperor? His gut twists as he gives in to the shuddering coughs. The forbidden images - did his Creator see that private sin? 

His anxiety turns to panic, as Prime’s broad hands tighten around his head - and _lift_ him off his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, our dear Vessel's fears are misplaced. (I can't leave you on a cliffy like that when ch8 may take even longer to write!) Such devoted struggle deserves reward...
> 
> Note that things will probably continue to get rougher from here. More... "primal", one might say. ;D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Honestly not too much for this chapter except that it's kinda rough. Implied mind invasion.

The Vessel's toes skim the ground as Prime hauls him up. He lets his body go limp, dangling by his head, eyes shut tight. He must not - _cannot_ \- resist his fate, whatever that may be. After the horrifying vulgarity of that waking dream, he almost _hopes_ to be heaved back into the pool. 

The last thing he expects, then, is a savage kiss. 

He gives a muted yelp of shock against Prime's crushing lips. Their force does not abate. A silk-draped arm grasps his upper body, pinning him against a firm wall of muscle. In his earlier focus, he all but forgot his own half-clothed state, but now - pressed up to the Emperor's skin - _feeling_ the deep, feral growl against his chest, as his lips are forced open to an invading tongue - now, his exposed skin burns with sensation. 

Prime's tongue rolls against his, searching, seizing him. Perhaps - a pulse-pounding thought - _tasting_ his own sweet-acid sacrament in Vessel's mouth. The smaller one whimpers, and melts fully into that grip. One huge hand still has his cheek, warm and strong; the other, pinning his arms to his sides in a vise-like embrace. He yields without question, flooded with gratitude, aching with bliss. 

His upper back hits the wall with an impact that would have knocked him breathless, if he had any breath to spare. The kiss advances, unbroken; Prime's hand is gripping his jaw now, forcing him open, _claiming_ Vessel's mouth with that aggressive tongue - and the conquest yields, whimpering, then breaking into a moan as willful hips grind against his own. The force pins both his hips and shoulders to the wall, arching his spine over the thick forearm behind him; he feels cords of muscle raised against his back as the arm bears his weight, pulling him further into the arch. His body gives way.

He finds himself stretching upward into the force, his moans freed to the air as Prime’s mouth moves down to his neck - brushing lips to the tensed muscle along the side, then bathing it with slick heat. This time, Vessel is _ready_ for the teeth, ready for the harmony of pain and pleasure. He lets his head fall back, exposing his throat in submission - sharp fangs graze teasingly at his skin before closing down, grip heavy and firm, tongue swirling in contrasting pleasure - pressing into the sensitive span of flesh between lines of exquisite pain - 

And the movement against his hips, his core, the powerful length pressed up against him, the _pressure_ of his own - his own - his - no, it's too much, no, he can't - Vessel clamps down on the wanton thought even as his core blooms with heat - but thin cloth is no shield for the inescapable _sensation_ from those grinding hips, even through the barrier of his closed sheath - his moans pitch higher, strained, distressed - Prime's bestial growl at his throat rumbles _through_ him - he keens with formless desperation, that selfish longing too much to allow in conscious thought - only that it aches with need, deep inside, constrained - far deeper than the fangs buried in his throat - it seethes, smolders - it _hurts_ \- 

The penetrating grip on his neck eases, releases. Wet heat slides up, behind the line of his jaw. There, the rich growl becomes a chuckle - only the barest change of tone. 

"So _tense,_ shy one _…_ " Prime purrs into his throat. "Are you _still_ held in…?" 

There is something _more_ in that voice, now - the silky tone is beginning to slip away, revealing another, deeper layer of resonance - an almost savage harmonic. 

The hand leaves Vessel’s face, sliding down. Prime’s lips return to his, softer, teasing - holding back so their sensation is only the slightest brush. The pinned one's breath comes scattered, broken into in uneven gasps. Against his lips and chest, bare skin on skin, he can feel his captor's breathing as well - deep, heavy, rough _._ Something swoops inside him; though, from excitement or terror, he can’t be certain. 

"You _truly_ are… on this day, your _purest_ self…" Prime draws his hand down the side of Vessel's waist, grazing skin with the backs of his claws. He thrums into the resulting shiver, and the kiss moves, sliding over Vessel's flushed cheek. "So demure in your body… yet, your mind…" 

That voice drops to a breath, as the softest of lips brush his burning ear. "Your _mind_ is so ... _rrrraw."_

The last word, Prime draws out, savoring. It winds through Vessel's chest, stilling his breath with a grip as powerful as the physical arm. 

"Your surface thoughts… not a _breath_ of resistance," he purrs. "Your emotions, so _vivid…_ so utterly… _open_." 

Vessel swallows. The motion briefly reminds him of the ache in his throat; but his curling dismay is far stronger than simple pain. The brush at his mind's surface is imperceptibly soft - so soft, in his flustered state, it has gone unnoticed. Being disrobed now seems trivial; only skin was exposed, when already, his mind was... _naked_ before the Prime. 

"You taste… _exquisite."_ His creator’s touch skates across his hip. Despite the fabric underlayer, the sensation draws a fluttering twitch. "Pain, pleasure… fear, joy, all of it… you _feel_ … so _intensely."_

Prime's broad frame shifts against him - just for a moment - just enough for his wandering hand to snake between their bodies - and then, further down - 

And that aching, smoldering need _ignites -_

A ragged cry tears from Vessel's throat, hips jolting, as Prime's touch finds his sheath through the thin cloth of his tights. The hand closes around him. He twitches and cries out again, panting and squirming in that heated grip - the pressure inside him _burns_ \- shivers consume his body, wild gasps and moans, as Prime gently massages the aching swell - 

"…There… you see?" whispers the voice in his ear. "...So _easily_ overcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed a few regular commenters - hello! If you want more of this vibe, hit me up on Discord, LadyBinary#8135. I'm running a private, adult, Prime-centric server with an All Kinks Are Valid philosophy and plenty of smut to go around.  
> I also have a Tumblr with more lighthearted non-explicit lewd spacebat comics and some psychoanalysis essays [here](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/). You might want to start with my first DoublePrime comic, [Trouble in the Empire.](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/620835346713853953/trouble-in-the-empire)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Religious overtones, group pinning, claws, continued alien anatomy.

_So easily overcome._

Helpless with need, the Vessel shudders against his ruler's palm. Truer words were never spoken.

Soft lips plant a teasing kiss on his upper ear's skin, then disappear - along with the hand between his trembling thighs. Somehow, the ache blooms even stronger; he groans, long and loud. 

Prime's hips withdraw as well, and the steely arm loosens, letting him slide down to his feet. The wall is no longer enough to support him. His legs falter, threatening to collapse. 

"Brothers. Hold him upright for me." Prime steps back, and gestures with one armored claw - and a wide, fanged smile. "I want _both_ my hands available." 

Two of the remaining three Chosen appear from nowhere; Vessel gives a start as they take him by the shoulders. He opens his eyes, dazed, as if waking up from a dream. In Prime’s arms, for those rapturous moments, all others had been forgotten - the entire universe had disappeared. Now, with his senses returned, he glances to either side and meets two secretive smiles. One cowled ‘brother’ gives his arm a gentle squeeze; the other, bolder, slides a hand behind his waist.

The Emperor returns to his stance at Vessel’s front. Now, with the smaller one on his feet, the height difference looms large again. Vessel tilts his head back to meet those captivating eyes. His reverent gaze is returned with a seductive smirk; the broad palm returns to his cheek, and he leans into it unconsciously, pressing his face to the warmth. It fails to relieve the pressure in his core - but still, the pleasure of that simple touch is enough to make that pain more bearable. He gives a soft whimper as he sags against the flanking support of his two ‘brothers’. 

“Poor, _restrained_ little thing…” coos the Prime over his head, stroking his face. Another palm slides down his bare chest; his skin tingles with warmth in its path. The soft, breathy voice is taking on an eerie lilt. “You endure so much suffering, even in your purity…” 

Vessel whines softly into the palm, caught between torment and bliss. Such blessed warmth; such intoxicating attention… his eyes fall closed to savor their leader’s touch. 

Gentle claws hone the silky sensation traveling down his body. He feels them slide over the edge of cloth at his waist, and down. The voice lowers in pitch. “Be at peace, now. Let me absolve you.” 

His core tightens, anxious, as he braces himself for more exquisite torture at his crux. Instead, the claws slide over his hip and down the front of his black-clad thigh. The cloth drags slightly against their sharp edge, not quite snagging. Vessel silently chides himself for a brief flash of worry for his tights; it is base implanted knowledge that Horde uniforms are engineered for durability, handled daily by their species’ non-retractable claws. The superior technology of such fabrics would never give way under such a light caress.

Five spread points press into his outer thigh. His eyes snap open as the claws pierce fabric and sink into his skin; the one metal tip slices through the reinforced cloth as if cleaving smoke. 

Prime’s other hand is still warm and gentle at his cheek; it tilts his head upward to meet the wide, fanged smile. He watches Vessel’s face intently, even as he addresses the two attendants. “Keep him steady, now, ‘brothers’." 

Obediently, the two Chosen press close to either side. Vessel flushes as the bold one tightens the arm behind his waist, and slides another hand across his chest. It presses against his sternum, holding him to the wall. The other attendant squeezes his shoulder and leans into his ear, thrumming coyly - then reaches down to his free leg, and wraps a firm grip around the crest of his hipbone. Strong, steady fingers clamp directly into the inner hollow to stay the shocked jolt of his hips. 

"That should do." Prime’s sharp smile softens, but he never breaks the equally piercing gaze. His claws push across Vessel's thigh, tearing through the stretched fabric, leaving heated paths along the grazed skin. "If he wriggles… this could _hurt_.”

Vessel tries to stifle a shiver. The main pupil slits lock onto his eyes, steadying him along with the palm at his cheek. In a murmur, Prime gives a command that needs no emphasis. 

“Hold… absolutely… still.”

The extra two eyes turn downward, as claws angle up over Vessel's hip towards his crux. It takes intense effort for the frozen clone to hold back a gasp. Tension clamps down in his sore throat, but a weak whimper still manages to escape - he stares up into the Prime’s steady gaze, himself wide-eyed, breath choked, every muscle held taut - as the barest lines of sensation drag across his sheath. Every nerve in his body seems to draw in towards that ethereal touch, amplifying it, as if electric bolts are being drawn into his skin. He does not dare move, breathe, or even blink, transfixed - frozen by those eyes as much as the sharpness - until the claws end their path at his opposite hip. 

“Very good, shy one.” The Emperor’s voice is as soft as his touch. “You surrender _...beautifully.”_

His words are nearly inaudible, yet they fill Vessel’s senses. The powerful praise leaves him dizzy; a tiny moan catches in his tight throat, unable to escape. Over the next few breaths - as a somewhat less delicate hand shreds through the rest of his tights - his head swims, unable to hold a single conscious thought. The two Chosen at his sides are all that keep him upright.

Though the palm remains on his face, that binding gaze at last releases him. Prime smoothly extracts his claws; he flicks a shred of black cloth from the tip of one, gesturing as he steps slightly to the side. “Some assistance, I think.”

The remaining 'brother' appears from Vessel’s peripheral vision. Needing no direction, this one kneels before him to complete the disrobing. Careful claws peel the surviving fabric down his lower legs, leaving him entirely nude. It barely registers in his dazed thoughts. 

“Rejoice, patient one. I have not forgotten you.” Prime grants the deft attendant an affectionate stroke behind the ears. “Each of my Chosen will have their blessing, soon enough. But first…”

The kneeling clone trills softly, pushing his head into Prime’s touch with shameless abandon. A look of bliss pervades his face, even as the hand directs his head forward - to Vessel’s crux. 

“...I believe the shy one will need some encouragement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed a few regular commenters I haven't been able to get in contact with yet - hello! If you want more of this vibe, hit me up on Discord, LadyBinary#8135. I'm running a private, adult, Prime-centric server with an All Kinks Are Valid philosophy and plenty of smut to go around.  
> I also have a Tumblr with more lighthearted non-explicit lewd spacebat comics and some psychoanalysis essays [here](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/). You might want to start with my first DoublePrime comic, [Trouble in the Empire.](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/620835346713853953/trouble-in-the-empire)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Religious-toned sexual/anatomical shame, alien anatomy, friskier group pinning, oral, implied mind invasion.

_The shy one will need some encouragement._

Vessel stirs from his heady daze, confused. Encouragement…? More praise, perhaps? His ears perk up. 

A moment later, praise is the last thing on his mind. Every mote of his attention is concentrated on a single line on his body, the slit of his sheath - where the kneeling attendant has just laid his tongue. 

Vessel fails to halt a strangled cry; his two flanking 'brothers' are more successful with his body. The coy one flexes his hand against Vessel's hip, cutting short the reflexive jolt. They press in against him from either side - with perhaps more rolling of the hips than strictly necessary - their firm touch moving over his chest, his waist - and the patient one below, whose hands slide up to squeeze his quaking thighs as - as he - that mouth, that tongue, _moving_ , bathing him in wet heat - this time, Vessel's clenched throat gives way to the helpless cry - 

He _can't_ \- it's too much - that painful pressure, that selfish _need_ \- his head falls back, wide eyes staring up at nothing, voice trailing off into a desperate, ragged whine - the sound of soft trilling in either ear - how can his brothers be so _calm_ when he feels as if he’s _dying -_

Broad hands take either side of his face, and the glowing eyes of his living god fill his vision. Prime’s voice floods through him - not through his ears, but his thoughts. 

_“Purest one, suffer no more. It is my will.”_

Vessel's eyes spill over as they fall closed. He does not feel the streaks of warmth down his cheeks - only the hands engulfing his face - the tongue engulfing his slit - the kiss engulfing his lips - and the voice engulfing his mind.

_“Free yourself for me.”_

Something in him breaks. Or, perhaps more accurately, opens. Clenched muscles in his core shudder and give way, parting his sheath for the probing tongue - releasing, at last, his straining sex. 

Wet heat draws out the part of him that has no honorable use, no right to emerge before his Creator. Even as pleasure ignites in his crux, conflict twists around it. The sole purpose of this profane organ is his own selfish gratification. Private, secretive fumblings aside - though his memory is obscured, he can imagine the Emperor might often look away from that unspoken secret among the clones. Perhaps, even… on away missions, far from the Empire’s heart and their ruler’s light, longing for the warmth of the hivemind… perhaps, isolated Brothers might dare such sins together to soothe that desolate chill. But this… this is the Emperor’s will? _Here_ , in the sacred chamber of purification - under the eyes of the god himself? 

His thoughts dissolve between firm hands and firmer lips. In their place, echoes only the blessed voice: _“You are absolved.”_

Prime's lips release him, to free his open moans into the air. 

The patient one bathes Vessel's length with far more confidence than his own tongue had shown the Prime. It submerges him in swirling, sensuous heat; pleasure flares out through his twisting conflict, searing it away in cleansing fire. 

As Prime's hands withdraw, their symmetrical warmth is replaced with twin mouths on either side of his neck. His supporting 'brothers' thrum against him; their grip loosens as his twitching and trembling becomes a smoother writhe. When the kneeling clone closes his lips around him and slides down the length, the other two allow Vessel's hips a slight buck - driving him further into the ready mouth. 

He gasps as the sensation multiplies - but from his attendant, there is no sensation of struggle. Vessel manages to glance down, to see Prime's hand stroking through the patient one's hair. The servant thrums as he works - wearing a quiet, proud expression of submissive bliss. The sight of that enraptured face, stroking up and down Vessel's shaft with wrapped lips, is _impossibly_ lewd. A shiver shoots up through his clenching gut; another wave of sensation follows - slick pressure, moving back along the ridged length - _pulling_ \- sealed lips and pressed tongue gripping him, drawing him in even as the mouth moves back - he arches up with a wild cry -

_He is sprawled on his back in a room with vaulted ceilings, tangled in bedsheets of finest white silk. The fabric whispers against his naked skin as he arches up. Above him, three of his Brothers' faces are in view - one smirking, one composed, one biting his lip - as multiple hands press him down to the bed. Someone firmly clasps his wrists above his head. Another hand grips his thigh from below. His leg is hitched up to his chest, exposing every inch of his most vulnerable areas - he whines, struggles, but his pounding hearts thump not just with fear, but excitement as well - something slick and hot and huge is between his spread thighs, pushing down behind his sheath, searching - at his hiked-up leg, light glints off a metal claw -_

The unbidden fantasy releases him, as abruptly as it came. It leaves Vessel panting, quaking, squirming against his captors - though whether from the dream or from his pulsing sex, he isn't sure. The coy one has his wrists now, his arms pulled behind his back and pressed to the wall, emphasizing his heaving chest and the arch of his spine. He barely feels his wrenched shoulders. The one below has him deep in his mouth, pulling with his tongue and sealed lips - _servicing_ him with intense focus.

The Prime stands a step back - poised, regal. Cobalt skin and draped silk glisten in the green light from the pool. A smirk curls up the edges of his lips as he stands, still and silent… watching. His arms are clasped behind his back as if appraising a conquest. Indeed, the way his eyes rove across Vessel's exposed body, inspection seems an apt description. The Prime's own magnificent nudity needs no appraisal; he is, after all, the embodiment of perfection, its very source. 

His eyes catch Vessel's own; the smirk widens. Vessel’s entire body trembles against the wall. There is no question - his visions have been observed, with as little effort as eyeing his naked skin. Shame conflicts with the mounting pleasure. This, too, he can be sure his Emperor sees, holding Vessel’s wide-eyed gaze as the pinned one’s moans pitch higher, sharper, pulse hammering, breath ragged in his chest. He cannot blink from those eyes, cannot squirm away from the overwhelming sensations - cannot hide how near he is to falling apart before his ruler. With his mind cast open, defenseless, Prime can see every detail of his wanton state - every spark in every nerve.

Prime sees all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking the next chapter is the one where I finally get Vessel flipped around against the wall but then it just keeps getting longer asldgh;asgh


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Orgasm denial, more fun with possession, roughness, the author continuing to @#^@$ slow-burn the absolute crap out of this to an extent that is frustrating even to HER. I swear I'll get through the scene EVENTUALLY...

The Vessel has no spare neurons for shame. Something is building, _burning,_ spreading out through him. The muscles in his thighs and abdomen tense and flex in anticipation. The others must be able to read it in his movements, or the way his moans turn to keens of need - the two nip gently at either side of his neck, cooing, gripping him tighter with their bodies - and the third _hums_ around his cock - 

The Prime shifts his stance, unclasping his hands. He does not break eye contact with Vessel as he steps forward, and rests a hand on the back of the patient one’s neck. For a moment, the clone falls utterly still - his eyes go wide - carefully, he withdraws from his task. Vessel gives a strangled groan, pulled back from the edge of a precipice he cannot name. He bites it down. His own pleasure is an afterthought; he is deeply grateful for the blessings already given. If it pleases his exalted Brother, he would gladly suffer far worse - and already has, as the twinge in his throat reminds him.

Prime’s smirk never wavers. He glances down, and shifts his hand on the servant’s neck. The face turns upwards, wide-eyed, beseeching him - Vessel swallows at the sight of his own glistening fluids, tinging the parted lips with green - and Prime coos in reply. “Yes, patient one. You have done _well_.”

The clone relaxes, leaning into the hand stroking the back of his neck. Prime pulls him against his bare thigh, letting him rest his head against one muscular hip. A soft trill sounds, reverberating with pleasure. Vessel suppresses a flicker of envy. The servant is so assured, so composed, even on his knees and dripping with - 

The Prime smiles wider. The glow in his eyes shines out from the shadowed angle of his face. Beneath his hand, the patient one gasps. 

Vessel stares, lower lip clenched between his teeth, as the one before him comes - quietly. A few quick, tiny gasps resolve into a silent cry - his head falls back against Prime’s hand, body shuddering against the powerful thigh muscles, clutching to him - the barest hint of sound escapes, high, strained - spine arching upwards - the shudder deepens, becomes a twitch - then at last, he falls still against Prime’s hip. The hand returns to his hair for a moment, strokes through, then departs.

Slumped and panting, the spent clone barely stays on his knees as his support steps away. Prime chuckles at Vessel's brief look of concern. "This one will be all right. He prefers to _watch_."

He glides a step forward, lifting a hand to caress the bold one to one side. His two main eyes hold their gaze on Vessel. "And there is still… much to see."

Vessel works to release his lower lip; it feels sore, embedded in his fangs. Next to his ear comes a trill, then a muffled moan - when the Emperor finally breaks eye contact, he dares to flicks his own eyes to the side as well - the bold one is mimicking those oral pleasures around the armored finger of Prime's hand. 

Gently, their leader pulls back his hand. Instead of releasing the mouthful, the bold one leans forward to follow. He gives a soft whimper, perhaps in want - or perhaps in pain; the claw has curled, and must be pressing somewhere in his cheek. The hooked digit draws back further, leading the clone along by the head. The bodily grip on Vessel finally loosens and slides away, breaking the symmetry of the support. In its place, the Prime himself slides in. With a gesture from Prime, the coy one on Vessel’s opposite side peels himself away. He joins the bold one at the wall - murmurs something in the other’s ear - they both grin wickedly; Vessel gulps. 

A claw beneath his chin turns his head away from the two Brothers, and angles it up. It is almost a relief to be forced to face the asymmetrical eyes; it keeps him from being tempted to look _down_ , where the larger one stands before him, _intimidatingly_ bare. That nudity is nothing like his own - himself stripped raw, exposed down to his very core, his most sinful thoughts on intimate display - no, this is power incarnate, proud and _terrifying._

Their bodies are held barely a breath apart; he can feel the heat of the Exalted one's sex radiating against his skin. He shivers, desperately trying to suppress the thought that snakes up through his mind. It refuses to fade. Horror grips him as he stares into the slit pupils, knowing his mind is splayed bare - bare, and consumed with the thought that with the slightest shift of hips, he could feel their bodies pressed together, that warmth aligned against his own - 

A low chuckle breaks him out of his reverie. The claw beneath his chin presses up. That smile has sharpened. 

"Shy little thing…" purrs Prime, deep and silky. "You only wish to be close to me… isn't that so…?" 

Vessel whimpers, not daring to nod against the metal point. The muscles of his lower body have tensed to an almost painful extent, rooting him in place to prevent his traitorous hips from acting on the profane thought. Another hand snakes behind his head, and the claw beneath his chin pricks upwards - lifting his face further, stretching his neck - teasingly close to the Emperor's lips, just above, just out of reach. He lets out a tiny whine. 

Prime narrows his two main eyes and inhales, slowly, luxuriantly. As he breathes, the heat from his body seems to increase, stoking those lingering sparks in Vessel’s core. It is not the scent he takes in. He _drinks_ Vessel's terror, his longing, drawing it in with the air. The smaller one gives freely; as if he has any other option. He is honored to feed the Prime with his tortured emotions. Indeed - even as tension twists in his core, it _thrills_ him to serve as such savored prey. 

Prey - Vessel _knows_ this is his position - and yet - after these minutes’ reprieve of imperious composure, he is still unprepared for the predator’s return.

When Prime exhales, it morphs to a deep growl. The next moment, the space between them is gone - displaced by heated skin, and searing sparks of sensation as he _grinds_ Vessel's hips into the wall. 

At the same time, that hand behind his head takes hold - rather than pulling him in for a kiss, it grips him by the hair. Before his yelp of shock can fully escape, the grip _yanks_ his head back, exposing his throat. The heat of Prime's tongue all but attacks him at the hollow of his neck, kneading in with unexpected strength; then slicks the entire front of his throat with a wide, harsh stroke. 

"Your voice..." That feral edge is returning to Prime's breath. "Let me _taste_ it."

His forceful hips obviate the command; its words are lost in Vessel’s helpless cries.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW - Okay, this chapter actually NEEDS a CW because this is where the tone takes a *noticeable* shift. Shame, dubious consent, harsher roughness, serious biting, implied blood, asphyxiation, delirium, edging, orgasm denial, penetration (kinda), and the most sacrilegious line of dialogue I will ever write.
> 
> … So, yeah, it’s glorious. Enjoy, you kinky vixens.

No “encouragement” is needed, this time. 

Vessel feels as if all of him has been pried open - his mind, his throat, his sheath - so that everything in him can be drawn out with ease, from his cries to his flailing thoughts. Though a self-conscious flush consumes his skin, the thought of closing or covering himself never occurs. His shyness is no match for the sheer _force_ of Prime’s will.

His arms press back to the wall - freed, but useless. He has no idea what else to do with them; attempting to touch the Prime, to pleasure him, seems ludicrous when his body can barely obey his own command. Gasps, whimpers, panting breaths come of their own accord. He arches involuntarily as warm strong hands drag down his sides, his waist. The grinding hips give no quarter. 

Without cloth or sheath to shield his nerves, each movement is a blinding electric surge. His own length is pressed up between their bodies, held tight against the slick, ridged shaft - sending heat, pressure, and shocks of sensation with every shift - and his sex seems to remember the earlier precipice, eager to return. That pleasure reignites with fervor at his lord’s touch. He shivers with the obscenity of it, the _blasphemy_ \- his arousal meeting with that sacred sweetness, _mingling_ -

His voice breaks into a long, wild moan. At this, Prime’s mouth engulfs the front of his neck, as if to _consume_ the sound in its path - or dissolve it with the rumbling growl. Those hands are still moving over Vessel’s skin, behind his hips - down his backside - and there, clawed fingers spread over the flesh and _grip._

The growl resonates against his neck. Vessel gives another cry, high, helpless. It cuts off with a strangled sound, as jaws close heavily around his throat. For a moment, he panics, chokes - survival instincts override his senses - his hands come forward unbidden, clutching Prime’s powerful shoulders, his own limbs weak, shaking - he stops himself _just_ before pushing away - not that he _could,_ against the silk-draped steel of the Emperor’s embrace. The force of the bite is just enough to close his windpipe, not to cut through his flesh; but such a blasphemous action as _resisting_ would surely get his throat torn out in earnest. 

A whimper dies before it can escape, trapped in that fanged grip. It seems that sounds _can_ be consumed. 

Claws sink into the flesh of his backside as Prime pulls him close; but with this deeper grind, shocks of pleasure override the pain. Breathless - in more ways than one - Vessel stares sightlessly upward, twitching with weak, useless gasps. The pain is blooming, somehow, _melting_ into the pleasure - it spreads, mingles, until he can no longer tell one from the other - even at his throat, pleasure floods into him as the jaws bear down - the arms around him tighten, wrapping him in soft silk, crushing his front to a wall of rumbling warmth - his hands slip from the broad shoulders as he gradually falls limp - and Prime’s deep, satisfied growl thrums into his core. 

His entire body shudders in submission to the overwhelming force.

It feels… so _good_ , to relax into the arms of the Exalted one. He melts, sinking into that thrumming gowl, pleasure and pain and desire and need merging together as he hovers near that precipice - so close - balanced on its very edge, yet the only tension in his body is the pulsing in his core. Everything else, the tightness, the trembling, is bleeding out through the passionate grip on his throat. He can feel his own fluttering pulse against the pressure, its soundless rush in his ears filling his head. Warmth flares and blooms around sharper points of ecstasy where his skin yields to the piercing fangs; it melds with the warmth of the all-consuming embrace, enfolding, submerging him in an ocean of silk and sweet rapture. All else begins to fade, as his entire consciousness narrows down to that deep, desperate bliss, reverberating in trembling waves between his throat and his sex. He has no strength to push towards that edge, just beyond… so, so close. 

His lips move, soundless. He does not need air to beg.

_Please._

The growl morphs in his ears, and against his throat. Its sound is hazy, distorted; his mind, blurred at the edges. It takes an endless moment to register Prime’s laugh. 

When the jaws release their grip, he does not immediately take a breath. His weak attempted gasps have long since trailed off as his body relaxed. The absence of those fangs is an emptiness; he yearns to sink back into their ardent warmth. 

He does manage a gasp, however, when his exalted ‘Brother’ takes his shoulders in powerful arms - spins his limp body around - and _slams_ his chest into the wall. 

His head swims as his senses try to resolve. His muscles are near unresponsive, but he manages another breath. Something warm trickles down his neck. His body starts to slide down the wall; as if on cue, his waiting ‘brothers’ appear to either side, steadying him by the elbows. There is no need to pin him, now. He could not squirm even if he tried. 

Prime's hands move down over his back. He feels their touch as a hazy tingle of warmth, stroking from his shoulders to his hips in a slow but purposeful path. The sensation is as muddled as his thoughts. Heated breath plays over the back of his neck, drawing a weakened shiver along his spine. His own breathing comes shallow and slow against the wall; his chest barely moves against the cool surface. 

"At last, you've relaxed, shy one…” Prime coos in that glistening voice. The usual silky tone has returned, but it sounds… different, somehow. Something thrums just above the subsonic register. 

The purposeful fingers curl around his hips, and pull them back, just slightly, from the wall. Firm warmth counters the imbalance from behind. It takes a moment to recognize the ridged shape, resting lengthwise up his lower spine. 

The support shifts, pressing forward, as hands slide back around his hips to grip his glutes once more. The movement reveals small pricks of pain in his skin; they barely register, in the heavy heat that nestles against the spread flesh.

Lips brush the port at the back of his neck. The embedded ring is devoid of sensation, but he can feel their warmth in his adjacent skin. 

"Now…" the voice murmurs sweetly. "Will you open for me?" 

The Vessel gives a barely-audible whimper. Thoughts bubble up in a disjointed stream. Unthinkable. Impure. Unclean. Regardless what those twisted, unholy dreams might imply… the vestigial place behind his sheath is rarely acknowledged, let alone touched. 

"Unclean?” Prime leans in to Vessel's ear with a purr. “I _made_ you in my image." 

The resonance of his voice is… off; yet, somehow, deeply familiar. The point of a steel claw grazes down, towards the forbidden. "Does your body _stray_ from my light?" 

As Vessel's senses clear, that uncanny bass reverb finally resolves into the smooth, luxuriant voice he knows so well. It is the same as it ever was, but now… now, after tasting the subsonic tone from the edge of the void… now, he can _hear_ it. 

Beneath the smooth tone still lurks that feral depth, lying in wait. It has always been there. There is no threshold, no switch between savage and silk; it is but one rich harmonic. 

"No part of you is forbidden to me," breathes the god. Sharp metal probes the threshold of something unspeakably profane. "When you honor me with your body, every atom of you is holy…" 

The steel sinks in. 

"… And none is sacred."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... *whew*
> 
> I wrote the previous 3 chapters in a desperate frenzy to reach that last line. Yes, the sacrilegious one. xD Time for a break before ch13.
> 
> I'm leaving it ambiguous what the, er, orifice is; feel free to interpret your personal taste. Possibly something like a cloaca? Since the clones don't reproduce, and apparently don't eat or excrete, everything's vestigial anyway. (This conveniently negates certain cleanliness concerns as well.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: More sacrilege, alien anatomy, manual penetration, implied sexual repression, and the *weirdest* one-item striptease. 
> 
> I'm leaving it ambiguous what the, er, orifice is; feel free to interpret your personal taste. Possibly something like a cloaca? Since the clones don't reproduce, and apparently don't eat or excrete, everything's vestigial anyway. (This conveniently negates certain cleanliness concerns as well.)

At the moment of entry, every muscle in the Vessel's body falls utterly still. His mouth drops open. The smooth, tapered steel, _inside_ him - it feels so alien, so unspeakable -

It feels so … _right._

Some part of him is vaguely aware of the wall's cool surface at his cheek and chest, and of the mirrored support of his Brothers beneath his arms. All attempts to bear his own weight are forgotten. His nerves will take no such conscious signal. The pathways seem to have rerouted, converging on the hum of sensation at the entrance of… of his… he has no word for it. It is… nothing; an emptiness, a void. And now, there is Presence where there should only be absence.

How can such wrongness bring such… _pleasure?_

With utmost precision, the Presence explores that threshold from the inside. A shiver of tension runs through inner muscles he did not know existed. As the careful touch probes beyond his border, fluttering shocks of sensation run amok - not just there, but deep inside - echoing through his core, his chest, his spine. 

“Such… _exquisite_ submission…” Prime's voice breathes into his reverie.

The Emperor's firm body presses forward until it enfolds his frame from behind. The hand at his hip slides up his front, interrupting the wall's coolness against his chest with a corded forearm and a whisper of silk. Vessel trembles weakly at the blessing of Prime's warmth - and at the smooth metal massaging his tight inner walls. 

"Your body is yielding so well for me now…" murmurs the Prime, just behind his ear. The hand snakes up, until fingertips brush just below his aching throat. "Yet… not enough…"

The heat of that powerful shaft pulses against his lower back. Vessel swallows, twitches, as understanding seeps in. The thought shivers through his core - something so sacred, laying claim to something so profane… 

His breath has scattered, splitting into shaky little gasps against the wall. He can feel his own unconscious resistance, his tension, as that armored digit pushes deeper. Its surface is slick - perhaps with the Prime's own fluids - and the claw is meticulously careful with its point; yet Vessel's body hesitates to allow it free rein. Tiny motes of pain spark up around the tightness, even as the strange new pleasure hums through his astonished nerves. A high, soft whimper seeps out through his ragged breath. 

"To receive my blessing…” Soft lips brush his ear. "You must yield _far_ more than this."

Pain and pleasure struggle inside him. These tense muscles are foreign to Vessel, far beyond his conscious control. He can no more loosen their grip than stop his own hearts. His body tightens against the shocks - _everywhere_ \- as the intrusion strokes slowly, in and out - as enfolding warmth wraps in all around him, save for the coolness of the wall at his cheek - even the metal, now, has warmed to match his own fevered body - its movement _burns_ through his nerves. 

Then, it stops - and slowly, achingly withdraws. 

The Prime exhales in his ear; the surrounding warmth pulls back. Vessel's broken gasps give way to something like a sob. _Not enough_. Despite his submission, his body gives not enough… _he_ is not enough… 

"Oh, my devoted one. Do not despair," comes the silky purr. "I grant you a moment’s rest."

Vessel manages to turn his head, just enough to see the Prime extend his arm to the side - calm, expectant. Silk folds drape from his forearm; sacrament drips from his claw. 

Vessel's eyes go wide as the patient one appears from behind - _on his feet,_ no less. If the servant is at all unsteady after his throes of ecstasy, he shows no sign of it. Such _immaculate_ force of will… this is what one of Prime's Chosen _should_ be. 

With perfect composure, the Servant folds a cloth over Prime's waiting hand. Vessel whimpers, caught between envy and awe - as well as shame at his own weakness. The hands of his Brothers bear his full weight against the wall; his own body is near unresponsive to his command. 

Then, his eyes open even wider, as the Servant carefully withdraws the cloth - and with it, the metal claw. A light sheen of borrowed sacrament is all that remains, glistening over newly exposed skin. 

At his side, the bold one moans. Vessel can only gape at the display. Something in him longs to step forward, to kneel there, to clean the Prime's fingers with his tongue. Instead, the patient one deftly handles the task with a clean fold of the cloth. He works meticulously, caressing the digit's full length from palm to tip, with a final stroke beneath the claw's curve - all the while, glowing with quiet pride. 

Vessel bites back his yearning. Clearly, the privilege of touching that bare hand belongs only to those most worthy. His own weakened body would not obey him even if he dared. 

Prime meets the Vessel's awestruck gaze. "I am a generous God," he intones, as he curls and stretches his fingers. Each moves with hypnotic grace, their perfect form as striking as their owner. "Be at peace. I will _always_ reward my most faithful."

The Servant tucks the cloth away and presents a new talon, clean, identical to the last. He lifts it with both hands, its open end towards his lord - head bowed, as if bearing tribute. 

Prime thrums in soft approval, and traces the metal's edge with his naked forefinger - slowly, lasciviously - teasing his captivated audience with deliberate decadence. His secondary eyes aim at Vessel's stare; the symmetrical pair rest on the Servant. The clone stands perfectly still, face lowered. His deepened breath, and the flush in his lowered ears, are the only signs of anticipation beneath that composure. 

At last, with a sensuous flex of his hand, Prime slides into the steel fitting. It closes around his forefinger with a satisfying _click._ At Vessel's side, the bold one moans again, and tightens the grip on his shoulder. The Servant gives only a soft, sated sigh.

The Prime pauses for a moment, to stroke the Servant's upturned palms with splayed fingers; then lifts his re-armored hand. His eyes shift to Vessel. 

"Those who seek my blessing… _will_ be granted it." He smiles, his voice hypnotic. That dangerous edge is ever-present, lurking - hidden, but only to those who fail to listen. "And, though some more than others may _struggle_ to accept…" 

His look grips the Vessel, meaningful, intense - pinning him with the full force of his gaze. Slowly, his smile widens, until his fangs are on full display. The green glow from the pool casts a dramatic gleam over the folds of his robe, reflected in his eyes. It invokes a lingering reminder, of a truth that none could forget: that all beings must suffer to become pure. 

"Be it known," purrs the Prime, "in struggle… you are all the more holy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect major delays on ch14 because a few readers convinced me last-minute to do something more grandiose than against the wall. ;P There will be a bit of setup, and I need to percolate the details.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Actually not much this chapter, except for a brief “dream” featuring (consensual) sexual violence.
> 
> Otherwise, just Prime being Dramatic (™). Because before we can get to the finale, YALL READY FOR SOME GRANDIOSE SETUP?!!

The Vessel has nothing to fear. This is what he tells himself. 

His body's resistance is meaningless. His body is weak. May it become a temple to his Lord - and if that worship destroys him, may he burn in the light of Prime's blessing. 

The eyes of his Chosen brothers are upon him. All of them, in fact. The three who left earlier have reappeared, perhaps by Prime's mental call; they watch from the rim. A formless hum of anticipation ripples through the gathered hivemind. 

Vessel spares a glance to the sidelined three. The acolyte looks to have recovered, though still a bit unsteady. The other two, meanwhile, seem oddly ruffled. The one with the devious smirk pointedly straightens his cowl; the soft one blushes as he does the same, smoothing out his uniform with a look of chagrin.

"Ahh… I see you all enjoyed the suite." The Prime greets them with the same fanged smile that was turned on Vessel a moment earlier. "I hope my summons didn’t find you at an… inconvenient moment.”

He does not wait for an answer. Instead, he turns and sweeps towards the center of the room. Vessel is left at the wall with his attendants, feeling quite exposed sans the partial cover of the silk-draped arms. Luckily, the attention of the Chosen - as well as his own - has shifted. 

The Prime stands at the head of the pool's entry, arms spread wide, palms up. For a moment, Vessel simply appreciates this view of his back. The robe's graceful arc from elbow to elbow falls low along his spine, framing cables, flexed muscles, and broad shoulders - as if he is posed there just for their enjoyment. The waters before him cast a steady green glow; its light shifts over falls of silk as he lifts his outstretched arms. 

Then, across the ever-still surface of the pool, a slow ripple spreads. 

The hivemind’s anticipant hum is rising, nearly vibrating with excitement. Vessel vaguely feels his Brothers’ grip at his shoulders tighten; but most of him is focused solely on the spectacle before them. As he stares, the green waters ripple, churn - then, begin to flow... _up_. 

Splashes and rivulets rise into empty air as the liquid decouples from the ship's artificial gravity. It scatters into drops, spreading up and out like a sparkling mist. Soon, the air above the now-empty pool is filled with an otherworldly green rain, drifting lazily in shifting constellations of light.

Silence descends, as the swirling mist settles. The Vessel stares, slack-jawed with open awe. So captivated is he, that it takes an endless moment to finally glance from the sparkling cloud - and notice what has been revealed beneath the green waters. There, in the center of what was once the pool's floor, stands a raised, circular platform. 

Or, rather... an _altar_.

He knows it immediately, just as he knows that most of his kin never see it in their lifetimes. It need not be seen to be recognized. All know of that most sacred ritual, for it is sung in the highest, most ancient scriptures. Once in a generation, witnessed only by the most privileged few… his pulse rushes in his ears. 

As the last points of light rise to join the spectacle, the Emperor lowers his arms. Slowly - with appropriate gravitas - he turns to look back over his shoulder.

“I trust you are familiar with the... _official_ purpose of this sanctum.” He grins back at them. From the glint in his eyes, he is clearly savoring their breathless awe. “It does have its other uses.”

Prime extends a hand forward, catching a trail of airborne drops and letting them roll over his skin. Their surface tension does not break; the glowing points slide off his hand, and float harmlessly into the air. “After all… why not enjoy it while my host body is…” He smirks. “...In its _prime_ , so to speak.”

At last, Prime turns back to his entranced audience. The pooled silk robe spirals on the floor around him; he adjusts it with a flourish, and glides back towards the wall... towards Vessel. A languid swirl of droplets drifts into the empty space cleared in his path. 

If not for his Brothers’ firm bodies, the Vessel is certain he would have swooned to the ground by now. His shallow breathing barely brings in any air; his lungs obey him no more than the rest of his body. It is taking every atom of his will to hold his remaining composure. This composure, admittedly, is not much; he is propped nude against the wall, barely on his feet. But his conflicted longing at the sight of the altar - the one featured in his most secret dreams - is enough to flay his nerves apart.

The next vision takes him just as his brothers let go.

_He clings to the Emperor's broad shoulders from the side, moaning and twitching, though his own body is untouched. The cable in his neck overwhelms him with feeling. It streams him the mind of the Brother who lies pinned to the altar - a devious, impudent mind, that yearns for correction by Prime’s thorough hand. Spread beneath their God, the deviant one wears a characteristic smirk, far too cocky for his predicament. The smirk becomes a wild, wide-eyed grin, fangs bared, as Prime tightens the fist around his throat - and thrusts forward. The rebel snarl succumbs, going slack with ecstasy._

_The shared connection floods his own mind with each thrust. He gasps in time with the two, clutching a powerful frame that surges beneath his grip - phantom sensations override his own nerves - pounding shocks in his depths, a passionate embrace at his throat. Another, the cheeky one, writhes in unison beside him. Arms pull him close in an uncontrolled clutch - he presses in, quaking from the pleasure pumping in through his spinal port - their lips find each other somehow - they fall, mindlessly entwined -_

Before Vessel’s fall even registers in his conscious, he is caught - in powerful, silk-draped arms. 

The Prime scoops him up by the backs of his shoulders and thighs. Their creator bears his weight as casually as one might a trill-cub. As the last of the vision clears, he finds himself pressed bodily to that full chest, and is too stunned to react - or even to fully absorb the warmth of the embrace. His mind is threatening to overload, to simply shut down.

“Do _try_ to stay conscious.” The Emperor’s arms tighten; his soft chuckle rumbles through the smaller one’s curled frame. A high, strained, tiny whine crawls out from Vessel's throat.

“Such a delicate line to tread…" muses Prime, as he turns from the wall. "Drinking in the _thrashing_ of your mind, without _quite_ letting it...” His voice lowers. “...Snap.”

A moment later, green droplets of light are all around them, as Prime strides back into the mist - bearing his quivering conquest towards Rapture itself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter it finally happens *I swear* I'm not just dragging this out to screw with yall


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Unprovided, from here on out. We're in the final stretch (....pun intended); by this point, you know why you're here, and I doubt anything is going to be a shock. 
> 
> I made a [helpful diagram!](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ba4f29114189fb80792008eecfdb17ef/9edceeb0e434fbc7-59/s540x810/b1ff21fcb42a8357b434c38b71bc110eb871db49.jpg) That Feel When you realize your OC is essentially a lovestruck chihuahua. _There are only so many synonyms for ‘trembling’_

The arms that bear Vessel to the altar are surprisingly gentle. He almost expects to be thrown against it; but apparently, the hallowed sanctum is enough to warrant a touch of ceremony. 

This does not particularly calm him. He has learned, today, that Prime’s moods are mere flavors - sampled, selected, and displayed at will. The lingering twinge in his throat is proof of that. The beast is no loss of composure. When it reemerges - which it surely will - there will be no warning. 

Despite this, he longs to sink into this warmth. The path is too short. In mere moments, a padded surface appears beneath his lower back. The altar is… surprisingly comfortable. It seems fitting. If this were a host transference ritual, that comfort would be the last thing he ever perceived. At the thought, Vessel’s stomach swoops, and his core stirs with heat. He can almost imagine that honor _…_

One arm withdraws from his legs, and the other behind his shoulders tries to lower him onto his back; but instead he leans up into Prime’s chest, reluctant to leave the embrace. For just those few seconds, he had nearly forgotten his trembling. Now, he can feel the stares again, hear the footsteps of his Brothers forming a circle around them. 

Prime chuckles as the smaller one clings to him. He takes Vessel’s face in one hand, and angles it up - towards the drifting green stars, towards his face. The glow of his eyes joins that of the floating drops, suffusing the air around them. In this sacred place, every corner is illuminated with his light. Prime casts out all shadows. 

“I can _taste_ your devotion…” the God breathes, with half-lidded eyes. “If I asked, you would give me… _everything_...”

A gentle hand slides up behind Vessel's neck, as the other strokes his face. He feels the silken chest swell against him; the heavy breath is not from exertion. It casts a husky tone to his creator’s voice. “ _You_ , my purest one… you are not only willing… you _yearn_ for it…” 

Softly, so softly, a single claw circles his port. His soul keens with assent. 

"...To be my next…" Warm breath plays at his lips. " _...vessel_."

The word shudders deep in his core.

It is not a name - not _his_ name. He does not have a name. He has an ache, an emptiness… a _need._ His voiceless lips form a single word. _Please_. 

He is not sure what he's begging for. It does not matter; because then, the Prime is kissing him - sweetly, _passionately._ He moans into the gift. The hand remains behind his neck as the kiss bears him down onto his back, with slow yet inevitable force. Its weight presses him to the altar as the Presence snakes into his mind, coaxing him open.

_Oh, my sweet little vessel. There are so many ways you can give yourself to me… each more intimate than the last._

Those tendrils in his mind sink deeper, curling into his consciousness, melting through every synapse as his lips melt beneath ardent heat. The hand leaves his face to travel the full length of his body, down to his inner thigh. Its grip takes the shivering muscle, and presses to the side - drawing his thighs apart with the same inevitability as the kiss. 

His mind gives over with ease. If only his body would yield so freely. Already, he can feel the tension in these strange inner walls. Something rests at his opening, something slick and hot and _huge,_ and a flash of fear grips him before he can suppress it - drawing every muscle taut with apprehension. His claws _almost_ curl against Prime's perfect chest. 

The kiss lifts, just slightly, to make way for a soft growl. It tastes more of affection than warning; but still he catches himself, hands frozen. He will not resist. He will not let his weakness deny the Prime's blessing. 

With a grit of determined will, he forces his arms to his sides. There, firm hands catch his wrists, pinning them. A lump of gratitude forms in his throat at the kindness of his Brothers. He would never consciously struggle against his Creator; but he may not have the strength to hold himself back. 

Pain is nothing. He would give over his very being - he would _become_ nothing, if it served his Lord. Pain has no meaning, before this gift. So why are his hearts racing like this? Why, as he stares up into those piercing eyes - why, as the hand tightens behind his neck, and the heated shape begins to press - why must his breath hitch to a terrified gasp? 

If he must, he resolves, he will allow himself to scream. 

Yes; that might help. It might even please the Prime. Soothed, he lets his gaze unfocus, until the sparkling drops merge into a vibrant blur all around them. He does not need control. Let this powerless body struggle as it burns; restrained as he is, compliance is no longer required of him. 

_Yes, shy one… you need not yield by your own will. I will make you mine._

Green glows off those powerful shoulders, the swirl of cables fanning out in a sunburst above them. To his eyes, his God wears a metallic halo of holy light. Pressure and pain mounts at his entrance. He feels himself arch upwards, drawing sharp, urgent gasps - his Brothers at his wrists hold true - the force at his thighs spreads him open - and the hand behind his neck shifts. 

The first penetration is not by Prime's cock. 

At his neck port, something connects, clicks into position - then _plunges_ inside. His neurons peel open. There are no borders, no openings, no thresholds to him now. There is no _him._ He feels himself lurch, hears a cry from his own throat - but he is not the one who perceives it. 

_The shy little thing beneath him arches and keens so sweetly, clamped down tight against the head of his cock. He could simply Take, but there is no finesse in that. Such distilled devotion as this - so rare, so refined - it is to be savored, not savaged. For now._

_Through the jacked-in connection, he flexes his will inside. The insensate stiffness goes still - then, those tight little noises melt into a slow, deep gasp._

Low in his straining core, he feels something pulse, quiver… and give way. A gentle hand strokes the side of his face. He feels it against his hot cheek - from above, he can see himself - the bright flush of his face, his mouth dropping open in shock, eyes wide, unseeing - his drawn-out gasp - the vibrant bite marks on his throat - and the long, vivid shudder all through his body, as he finally yields inside. Slowly, the swell of Prime's shaft sinks in. 

_He is a generous God. Let this devout vessel feel the power of his mercy. As a treat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear God, we're *finally* into the finale. 
> 
> I've noticed a few regular commenters I haven't been able to get in contact with yet - hello! If you want more of this vibe, hit me up on Discord, LadyBinary#8135. I'm running a private, adult, Prime-centric server with an All Kinks Are Valid philosophy and plenty of smut to go around.  
> I also have a Tumblr with more lighthearted non-explicit lewd spacebat comics and some psychoanalysis essays [here](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/). You might want to start with my first DoublePrime comic, [Trouble in the Empire.](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/620835346713853953/trouble-in-the-empire)
> 
> Edited to add: By the way - the painfulness of above is *entirely* for fetish purposes. Sex is not supposed to hurt, not even the first time! I'm just sadistic, and also writing a top who is less considerate than he could be, and a bottom who is VERY TENSE.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted in last chapter's notes addition: the emphasis on pain is *entirely* for fetish purposes. A slightly-sadistic demigod does not make for a particularly considerate lover, especially with such a tense partner. 
> 
> But no need to worry for Vessel... he's starting to come off as pretty kinky himself. ;D

His God finally enters, spreading him, filling him – so slowly he can feel the ridges one by one, sliding tight against his inner walls. Each sends a spasm of lightning all the way from his core, through his chest, up to his throat. His long gasp breaks into pieces. 

Flits of the hivemind brush through him - no, not the hivemind - _stronger_ \- his brothers, awash in feeling, linked to him through their ruler. He is too overcome to hear the heavy breaths and soft moans all around him; but they meld in his mind, a chorus of worship echoing his own.

Above him, Prime pauses - a mercy, yet somehow, an agony as well. The great chest moves in a luxuriant exhale. Vessel stares up into the four half-lidded eyes, himself helpless, drowned in sensation; his jagged breaths are joined by broken whines. There is a need behind the sounds. The ripples of pleasure from their sevenfold link spur him on, coaxing him to take in this blessing in full. His Emperor's size is breathtaking, overpowering, and yet - somehow - _how?_ \- his body _yearns_ for every inch. 

Obliging, Prime sinks deeper into him. Vessel breaks into another gasp, high and loud and long, seizing around the penetration. He can _feel_ his Lord's pleasure by the twitching of the shaft - hot, pulsing, _alive_ \- each movement multiplying this overwhelming, alien sensation of _fullness_ , deep through his void. He feels his grip flutter at the painful depth - both through his own nerves, and through the link's streamed pulse of tight sensation. And there, stretching him to the brink of agony, the muscled hips settle against him. 

Prime's main eyes fall closed - his head tilts back, just slightly - and he lets out a low, decadent groan. 

Vessel's breath hitches, with a noise almost like a sob. It is so much - too much - even more than this power inside, the sound of that groan is his undoing. His living god is _enjoying_ him - _savoring_ him. That sound alone, is unimaginable bliss...

Those hips roll against him, grinding slowly on his own pulsing length, as Prime's weight comes forward - pressing his body to the altar, arms enclosing him, lips alighting on his neck. Soft, warm breath plays over his skin; his own comes in quick, desperate gasps. Something is surging in him, something infinite, inevitable. The lips find their way to his twitching mouth. 

_You yield beautifully… rejoice, my Chosen… my most blessed vessel._

The kiss lasts no more than a moment. It parts to his cries as he _shatters_ in the arms of the Prime. 

_He is ready and waiting as the shy one finally breaks. It is almost too easy to nudge him over the edge. The slightest shift, and a breath of affirmation… yes, the challenge was holding him back this long, letting it build from a smolder to a searing blaze of need._

_The pinned clone shudders, then spasms, with a beautiful keening wail. Waves of exquisite, innocent surrender flood in through the cabled connection; he drinks it in with fervor, grinding into the helpless convulsions around his cock._

The Vessel's mind is scattered across the stars; for those endless moments, sentience is lost to sensation. It takes aeons for the pieces to slowly find each other again. His brothers flit among his atoms, leaning in, caressing - though with their hands or their thoughts, he is too insensate to tell. 

The hands at his wrists are shaking - or, perhaps the shaking is his own. That seems to be so for the ragged, gasping cries he hears, drowning out the moans of the others. His senses seep back into him, a breath at a time. The weight of Prime's body does little to steady his spasms - rather, it extends them, grinding against his twitching length to draw out the last of his release. 

_Inside, the shy one still grips at him, rhythmic, massaging. He indulges in the sensation; but to a god, the physical is merely a garnish. It enhances the taste of a mind aflame in the throes of agony, or ecstasy… or better yet, as in this case, both._

Lips at his cheekbones coax the Vessel back down to his body. He pants, whimpering and shaking, mindless. A number of hands stroke his head, his limbs - anything not covered by their ruler’s broad frame. The weight feels so good, so comforting, blanketing him in the same heavy warmth that fills his void to its limit, pulsing in the aftershocks of pain and pleasure. So good. Too good. His breath chokes in his throat. Emotion floods in through nerves just seared raw; the affection overwhelms him. 

“Breathe for me, shy one,” comes the soft command. Lips brush over Vessel’s face, and a flitting hint of tongue - tasting the wet tracks that streak down his skin. “I will have more of you yet.”

More? He wants to give _all_ of himself. He wants to end here, as he would in the ritual - in this sacred glow, laid on the altar, with his god inside him - the empty vessel fulfilled. Let this light be his pyre, in holy sacrifice.

“Such passion.” Prime chuckles in his ear. “But the choice is… unsatisfying. A life can only be given _once._ ”

Blinking away a wet blur, Vessel opens his eyes to the light. Those powerful shoulders shift back as Prime rises to mantle over him, planting a hand on the altar to either side of his head. The movement inside him, withdrawing, yields a new whine; but his gasp, a moment later, is for a different burn. 

Without warning, through their link floods _fire._ Not pain - no, this is an utterly alien feeling, a sense too powerful to describe - desire, yes, but _harder,_ like nothing he has ever felt before. It is nothing he is even _capable_ of feeling, for the one who feels this is not him _._ The need to _take,_ to _consume -_ it rages through every cell in his body and mind, neurons sparking. The feeling of…

_Lust._

_His lust is an endless hunger. The shy one’s first climax was a delight… but one never sates him. In the balance of pain and pleasure, he seeks perfection. That place where one merges into the other, borderless, sublime… it will be worth every moment of patience to build such a peak. As long as the delicate little thing can stay conscious._

_There is no satisfaction without some challenge. He is ancient, and experienced. Working a pliant thrall to his pleasure is a long-honed skill._

“I will possess you…” Prime whispers, “...Again… and again.”

Then, he drives forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying the next chapter will be a delay and then writing it in a frenzy anyway. [shrug emoji] Two chapters remain, I think.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double-size chapter for the finale! Apologies this update took forever… it was long and hard. ;P  
> Part of the delay was me taking a break to write a softer/fluffy (but still sinister) Prime/Reader POV one-shot, Be At Peace. https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959199 
> 
> CW for gettin kinda creepy about blood - we got just about every other kink, might as well put the "bat" in spacebat. (Did you know vampire bats don't actually "suck" blood? They just lap it up from a bite.) Everything else, well... you know why you're here. ;*

There is nothing gradual, this time, in receiving the Prime. The Vessel is not so much entered, as _impaled._

The impact drives the breath from his lungs in a strangled cry - one echoed in several voices around the sacred space. Shivering claws dig in at his forearms, unnoticed, far outweighed by the wave of ecstatic agony that sweeps up his nerves. Merciless, Prime grinds the harsh girth into his depth with a rough, feral growl. There is no pause; another wave flares as his ruler pulls back, plunges in - and again - igniting the altar's splayed offering - _again_ \- breathing husky and deep - building a slow, deliberate, _powerful_ rhythm between his straining thighs. 

“I will... possess you… claim you...” The rough-edged words punctuate each measured stroke. “... _take_ you… _consume_ you…”

The link with his Brothers is a feedback loop, amplifying sensation as they echo back into him, like a hymnal choir lifting their voices in resonance. Every stroke draws a shuddering cry of shock - every detail of Prime’s shape is multiplied, every ridge, every contour raking his inner walls. His perspective is unmoored, anchorless. He is cast between their minds, absorbing fleeting tastes of experience. _Lust. Envy. Excitement. Need._ The exposed ports of the Exalted one’s back, framed by a cascade of cables flowing in all directions - and by the Vessel’s shivering legs. _Ecstasy. Longing. Euphoria._ Eyes above him, intent, focused - all four drilling into him with as much intensity as each thrust. _Pain. Concern. Lust._

\- Concern? Ah, for the livid trickle of blood down his throat. He catches it in glimpses of himself, arched in worship between the pillars of Prime's arms. The streak shines in the holy green light, a beautiful shade of azure, vibrant against his cobalt skin. The pain in the bite wounds is long forgotten. Far more compelling is the weight of their ruler, undulating against him, into him, _through_ him. 

“... _Over…_ and _over…_ ” continues Prime’s staccato growl. “...Until... your very blood... _burns_ … with my Light…”

His Brothers press in all around, aching to be closer, to become one with the sources of phantom sensation - surrounding the two in a rising chorus of gasps and moans. An entirely new wave of heat is spreading now, as the rhythmic shocks begin to melt into something… _else_ , something deep and sublime. Vessel’s gasping cries stretch out at the edges. As he sucks in air for another, he lets his eyes close, lets his head tilt back, throat exposed in reckless submission - and the cry swells into a full-throated moan. There is a wanting echo at his neck; one of his Brothers nuzzles in. He feels the inhale, then the tongue, pressing reverently to his wounds - a flicker of pain - both he and the acolyte moan again, louder, as tension crests in his core - the sharp taste of blood - above him, Prime growls and slams down, _hard._

The peak rips through Vessel before he can draw breath. 

Points of light streak in his vision as he throws his head back, mouth stretched in a silent scream. By his ear, there is a soft _whumpf_ and a strangled groan as his Brother collapses against the altar at his head; but it goes unnoticed, while he vibrates between the atoms of his body. The heavy hips hold their depth, weight shifting. He is still riding out the sharp jolts of climax as Prime braces above him, lifting the other clone by the chin. 

"Cheeky _indeed..._ " their ruler’s thumb presses in through the parted lips, as if to collect the stolen swipe of azure. "...To taste what belongs to _me._ "

Vessel barely comes to in time, gasping and blinking the stars away, to see the feral flash in Prime’s eyes. For a moment, he dazedly braces for his whimpering Brother to repay with blood of his own. He cannot tell the difference, in those eyes, between violence and lust; he is not sure there is one. 

Prime instead pulls the clone in by the back of the neck for a rough kiss, directly above his thrall's wide-eyed face. He growls and forces the pliant mouth open with his own, reclaiming the taste with his tongue. There is a neon glimpse of tongues sliding over each other between their lips - the acolyte moans, then gasps, shudders, goes still - and, slowly, parts from the kiss. With renewed grace, he slides back to reclaim his place at the altar’s opposite edge, behind Vessel’s head. To Vessel’s supine field of view, he appears to hang upside down from above.

The two look down, to the offering on the altar between them - their faces mirrored in reverse - sharing twin smiles and glowing eyes. 

The Acolyte takes Vessel’s face in his hands from above, fingers curling beneath his jaw, purring with Prime’s deep throaty thrum. Vessel whines, shivering desperately. His seizing inner walls still clench around the Exalted one’s unmoving heat - to hold its entirety is almost unbearable. He opens his mouth to beg for mercy. His lips move, voiceless, choked, through a few more ragged gasps. Finally, the words make it past his throat; in a weak, breathy voice, he whispers: 

“Please… d-don’t stop.”

The smiles above him spread, displaying twin sets of fangs. 

The acolyte leans down to capture his mouth - lips rolling sweetly against his own in reverse, palms on either side of his face, the warmth seducing him into a moment’s ease - distracting him while strong fingers grip his thigh, and a knee plants beside his hip. The next moment scatters that ease into the sparkling air around them; the Prime’s angled thrust hits him _deep._

Vessel’s yell is cut off by the Acolyte’s lips. Sound breaks through the kiss in scraps and pieces. Each thrust rocks his entire body, heavy and hard, held in place only by the clawed hands digging in around his hips. The passion in those lips retaking his over and over, refusing to let go, is intoxicating - almost as much as the waves of impact in his depth, filling him, _claiming_ him with that same possessive hunger. 

_-_ His conqueror - His Emperor - his God - _fucking_ him -

The coarseness shocks him as it blooms through his mind. This place, this ritual, is too sacred for such a blasphemy. He is not sure it comes from his own thoughts. He feels the buzz of his Brothers - touch snaking inwards to stroke the pinned one's face and upper body - fingers entwining in his own - three different mouths find his skin, wet heat melding together over his chest, his clavicle, the crook of his neck - shivering and keening into him as every sensation is mirrored in their own bodies. Glimpses through another's eyes - pulling someone close, claws rending crisp white fabric, tongues entwined between teeth - growls, gasps - pushing into wet warmth - a snarl, then a moan - the sevenfold link flares in his core, and he moans in sync as they fuck to Prime's rhythm. 

No - the word is not his. It could never describe how the living god moves inside him - the power flowing through his body in waves of light - the silent rapture brimming in his eyes as he strains in worship. Yet, he forms the silent contours against the Acolyte’s lips, feeling the lewdness with his tongue... harsh, sharp... and _thrilling_.

_Taste it with me, shy one… the pleasure beneath suffering… the divine within the profane._

An arm slides beneath his waist, and yanks him free of the grips on his wrists. The Conqueror of Galaxies does not break stride even for a moment, pulling the Vessel upright to drive home. With ragged, urgent cries, the smaller one writhes back over the clamped forearm in a dramatic arch - a glimpse of the Acolyte mounting the platform behind him, casting aside the remains of his uniform - and then, Vessel is pressed up between the two, held immobile to the savage thrusts. 

_There is no sin I cannot sanctify. I desecrate you, consecrate you, by My will... while I fuck you._

Questing hands grip every part of him they can reach. A few of his Brothers follow them up - clinging, lips and claws on the broad rolling shoulders - below, there is a yelp that breaks into a low groan, another pair of voices joining in rhythmic gasps against the altar’s side. Harmonic waves amplify his own as the planes of Prime’s body surge up against him. Vessel muffles his cries in the engulfing chest, but that only unmasks the tight, wet sounds of sacrament slicking his insides.

Behind him, the Acolyte is an unyielding wall. Prime’s arm still holds tight by the small of his back, squeezed between bodies as the surrogate presses willfully forward. Hips roll against him in rhythm with their leader - he feels the closed sheath radiating heat from behind - as a forceful pair of hands slides down his chest and waist. His own arms wrap blindly, desperately, clinging to the broad surface of his ruler’s back, feeling the tense and release of muscle beneath his hands. His legs clamp around the flexing hips with trembling need. Someone grips his thigh; claws sink in, then teeth. It does not matter. Nothing matters but the full, hot shaft pumping up into him, relentless, driving him towards a new precipice of pain and bliss. 

Helpless, his head falls back. Hands seize his face from over the Acolyte’s shoulder; fingers twine in his hair and wrap beneath his jaw, tilting it further back, and then someone is kissing him with forceful ardor. This one aches to be filled, to be _fucked -_ he burns to be in Vessel’s place, to feel the harsh girth plowing through him - closer, _deeper,_ he can feel it through the shy one’s twitching lips, yes, _yes,_ so _agonizingly_ close. The hold stretches out Vessel’s throat, presenting it for the Prime to claim.

A wash of heat accepts the gift, as Prime's tongue bathes his raw wounds in swirling pain and pleasure. Vessel breaks free of the borrowed lips with a rising gasp - his voice opens - hears a growled-out “ _yeeesss”_ of lascivious anticipation - and at last, as the heat tastes him, _takes_ him, he _gives._

With a full-throated scream, Vessel drowns in the Prime’s searing light. 

There is nowhere to writhe; Divine flesh has him pinned on all sides, submerging him. Spasms wrench in on themselves with unchecked strength. He hears a deep groan at his neck as he clenches inside and out, overwhelmingly tight around the pulsing fullness. And yet - the surging hips give no mercy. _Once more… you will do... as I ask of you..._ breathes the savage will. _Give me more… give me... everything._

Ruthless, Prime drives up through the aftershocks - and his teeth close down. 

Vessel’s scream breaks into pieces, then dies altogether as it runs out of air. His empty lungs still press up into his throat. Powerful arms tighten all around him as his own slip from their hold; all conscious response closes down, all sense of control relinquished. A greater will has him now, holding him as surely as the paired walls of muscle against his chest and back. His body is long past its limit - violently trembling, entirely overcome. A deep growl at his throat resonates with the voice in his mind:

_That's it, my Chosen... come for Me._

He gives, utterly. His depths yield their last - taking his god to the very base. 

Ecstasy surges from his core, blooms from the piercing fangs, spills from his eyes, spreading, merging, burning through his veins. He is beyond pain. Powerless, he clutches down on Prime’s cock in devastating waves. He throws his head back and screams silently into the air, his nerves roaring, his hips shuddering, craning into the agonizing bliss - into _Him_ \- and oh, _fuck_ , it feels _right_. 

At his absolute peak, Prime consumes him. 

_The shy one’s apex is nothing short of perfection. Agony, ecstasy - cacophony, harmony - desperation, determination, devotion - and, oh, that single, beautiful scream. It is a feast fit for a god: for his mind, and his mouth, and his cock. Each writhing emotion and sensation blooms through the link, through the taste of tears and blood on his tongue, and he devours them as they come - release at last, for his thrall, and for Him._

Holy light burns through Vessel’s blood, as the Prime rams himself home and _snarls_. For a boundless moment, the Presence inside him is something far beyond their bodies - beyond the clawed hands digging into his hips or the heaving chest behind him, beyond the great force claiming his void and his throat. It blazes through him, around him, _everywhere;_ it is in the suns and stars, filling the vast emptiness of space, filling _him_. The hips beneath him jolt as the fullness pulses inside him, twitching, hot release surging in swells. His God grinds up between his thighs to flood his depth. In this universe, there is nothing but that Light. 

His senses fade to the arms enfolding him, the shuddering heat at his back, the heavy breaths over his shoulder and at his throat. He no longer feels the writhing and keening on the altar around him - nor his own keening gasps, almost sobs - the fangs in his thigh, the lips pulling on his fingers, the tongue in the hollow beneath his ear, the hand snaked between bodies to stroke the last of his release from his twitching cock. There is no need to - Prime's warmth at his throat draws release from his very veins. 

He lets his head fall, to ride out the endless spasms with weak twitching jolts, staring up into the swelling sea of light. The edges of his vision are blacking out; the points meld together in his unfocused eyes, blurring to an all-consuming green glow. He wonders if he is drowning, staring up from the depths of the pool of salvation itself, only dreaming of this sweet worship. 

A gentler vision wraps his mind in its steady grip. It feels… familiar, somehow; warm and comforting, like a verse of Scripture, hummed into memory again and again. He embraces the dream, as he falls into the black. 

_Blessed purity. Blessed peace._

_The nameless vessel rises from the glowing pool, cleansed, absolved. The waters buoy him easily - he is weightless, freed of his sins and shame. All suffering has been cast from his memory, like shadows beneath the light of the Prime._

_He reaches the edge; when he falters on weak legs, a hand takes his arm. Metal glints in the green light. His steady support bears him up the slope, out of the waters - and draws him close._

_The smile above him both warms and sears. He dares to look up… to gaze into the eyes of Perfection._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the aftercare epilogue! Our bby gon get SNUGGLES (and some much-needed medical attention on those bite wounds)
> 
> MAJOR kudos/acks to DelightfulDreadful (QueSeraph) for inspiration and a few turns of phrase, particularly the entire concept of beautiful profanity. Additional love to the Discord and too many users to name for cheering me on through what turned out to be a particularly difficult chapter to write. All those moving pieces and concepts to keep track of, y'know?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous, barely-in-character fluff ahoy! Because after 17 chapters of breaking our poor bby's brain (and much of the rest of him), you better BELIEVE he's gettin some purry snuggles and validation, whether it's IC or not. Good aftercare is vital, folks. 
> 
> CW for a brief bit of angst/shame, as Vessel is contractually obligated to wibble at least once every 500 words.

**Epilogue**  
  
 _It is the bedroom with vaulted ceilings again. The fine white silk whispers against his naked skin, and the warmth of others. Around him, his Brothers are in view -_ no, that seems wrong. His eyes are closed; he can see nothing. But he can feel the silk as he stirs, and the bodies pressed in against him, purring gentle susurrations into the hivemind. He drifts back down, into a familiar dream. 

_His ‘brother’ whimpers alongside him, supine, soft and sweet. The cheeky one is pliant to his cautious touch. He hesitates, unsure, despite the steady purring at his back. The other opens his eyes, and shyly bites his lip. Those lips look so soft, so welcoming… so close. A broad hand lazily strokes his hip from behind, warm but for the coolness of the steel-armored forefinger - encouraging him. He lets his hand slide further up the supple waist. His 'brother' rolls slightly inward, arching against him with a sigh. His pulse flutters. He closes his eyes, inhales, and leans in to catch that bitten lip between his own. The purring behind him deepens._

No - the deep purring is beside him, not behind him. Something stings at his throat. Slight pressure, cool and damp. Cloth? He shifts away from the distraction, hoping to continue the dream. 

"It’s only a nibble, soft one. Let him enjoy his rest a little longer." The voice seems to come from far away. The purring at his side is so soothing. The sting relents, and he obeys the pull of oblivion just once more. 

_The cheeky one moans into his tentative kiss, and wraps an arm around his shoulder to pull him close. Those lips are soft indeed. He moves cautiously against them. The other whines, longing for more, but he does not know what to do. There is no boldness in his unsteady hands. The purr behind him becomes a rumble… and then, his body is no longer his._

_He feels his eyes roll back as an ocean of will flows in. Those brushing tendrils of Presence become rivers, plunging deep into his mind, subsuming him, submerging him. His consciousness yields freely to the Prime; the wash of that powerful will through his body gives a deeper warmth than any radiant sun. He gives himself over, a blissful observer, as Prime deepens the kiss through his Vessel._

Vessel opens his eyes, still basking in that radiance. It takes a moment for his vision to resolve. When it does, those same vaulted ceilings arch above him. 

It must be another vision. Such a peaceful one, this time. He is arranged on his back, the silken sheets draped over his legs and hips - and a few areas of warmer weight resting on his chest and legs, sprawled over and around him. Purring engulfs his senses from all sides. 

“Ah, he seems to have awakened at last.” Gentle claws sift through his hair. “I’m glad you’ve been enjoying your little… glimpses, shy one. Your Brothers have as well.”

The acolyte lifts his head from Vessel’s chest, still purring, to give him a secretive smile; then, nuzzles back in. The hand lifts from Vessel’s head to stroke down the draped one’s spine. “Yes… you knew that last one, hmm? Cheeky little thing.” 

The words pass through Vessel’s mind without much meaning; but he clings to their tone, warm and affectionate. He winces slightly as the stinging attentions resume on his neck. The soft one at his side coos as he carefully administers to the bite wounds. - What? 

Oh, yes. That.

Recent memory floods back in - and with it, a vibrant flush over Vessel’s face. His… everywhere, _aches;_ but in particular, a sharp soreness warms that void with no name. He swallows, feeling the twinge in his throat - inside and out. 

Carefully, he tries his voice. It is weak, and hoarse, but it works. “Lord... Prime…?”

“I am with you.” Part of the purring warmth against him shifts; hands slide beneath his body. In a moment, the stinging at his neck disappears, and instead he is draped across his seated ruler’s lap. His head rests in the crook of Prime’s shoulder; he lets his face angle into the bare chest, hiding his eyes. From here, the purring against him is nothing short of intoxicating. 

So many questions burble up in his mind, but only one matters. “W-was I… did I… please you…?”

A broad hand lifts his, and presses it flat against the rumbling chest. “My purest one… beloved in my sight... the _taste_ of the moment you succumbed to me...” Prime’s chest moves against his face in a slow, deep inhale. A single claw glides along the column of his throat, and the purr expands into something… else; softer than a growl, but with the same resonant depth. “Yeessss… I am sated _well_ this day.”

The Vessel cannot help but wince; the wounds, though cleaned, still sting. Against him, Prime chuckles. “Ah, but my blessings can be painful. Allow me.”

Prime’s shoulder moves against his head; beside him, Vessel hears one of his Brothers shift nearer, and the scrape of a lidded container. His hand is released, but he lets it stay where it is, resting against the warm chest. A moment later, a cool sensation blooms from a swipe of liquid over the sting. 

Vessel opens his eyes, and stiffens in shock. It is, indeed, the Prime whose touch carefully smoothes the healing salve into his skin. The Ruler of the Known Universe, his Emperor, his God, is wrapped around him… _tending_ to him. 

Something chokes in his throat - deeper down than the wounds. He shuts his eyes against the sudden prickle in their corners. His body feels so ravaged, so _weak_. Every falter, every stumble, flickers through his mind - every misstep before the Prime - the horror and shame of those moments of unbidden _resistance -_ no; he cannot receive such attentions, such _implausible_ generosity.

“- Shy one.” 

There is a note of admonishment in Prime’s tone. Vessel shrinks against the full chest. The hand moves from his neck to his chin, and grips - forcing his face out from hiding. The prickling in his eyes is unbearable, and his breath catches on the lump in his throat. May the Shadows take these undisciplined reactions, this Lightforsaken _weakness_ \- he squeezes his eyes shut tighter - such lack of control is undeserving to even _look_ upon his God, let alone be _held_ like this, so sweetly -

_“Look at me.”_

Vessel dares not disobey a direct command. With a tiny whine of effort, he opens his stinging eyes. The Emperor looks down upon him, gaze piercing, as imposing as ever - even while cradling a broken thrall in His divine arms. 

“You were very brave for me, shy one.” Prime’s tone is calm, soft, despite the firm grip on Vessel’s jaw. “The strength of the devotion you showed me today… the suffering you bore in my name... is worthy of _utmost_ honor.”

Vessel stares up, transfixed once more by those glowing eyes. His own spill over onto his cheekbones, unnoticed. He manages a choked whisper. “...Worthy?”

“Oh, my Chosen…” purrs the Emperor, “that was _never_ in question.” 

His grip releases Vessel’s chin, to catch a streak of wetness with a steel claw - and lift its taste to his lips. Languidly, he runs his tongue along the length of the talon. “You have proven yourself worthy to me… _many_ times over.” 

_The nameless vessel rises from the glowing pool…_ Vessel blinks himself out of the vision. It keeps worming into his head - one of many others. Others that are similar, but just a _touch_ different each time... 

Then, at last, realization seeps in. 

Not visions. Not fantasies. Not dreams.

_Memories._

Vessel’s breath scatters, his pulse quickening. The mounting purr from Prime does nothing to ease the shaking that begins through his entire body. Those powerful arms wrap tighter around him, pressing him into the rumbling warmth as he gives way to uncontrolled trembling. “Many times indeed…” his God murmurs. “Although, I have noticed…” 

Softly, Prime strokes down the back of his head, to his neck. The silken voice draws close to his ear. 

“The _first_ times… are _always_ your favorite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the Academy... and everyone on Discord who's been cheering me through an absolute JOURNEY of an EPIC SMUT.  
> I do have some art of this chapter in progress; I may post the finished image as another "chapter".  
> ...also... this was GOING to be my first, last, and only fic... but... you know how it goes. I have a nonsmut drabble oneshot up, and the intro of the next smut is already in progress. Whoops.
> 
> So long... for now >,;,}


	19. Bonus art update!

My own art, of the aftercare chapter: 

Also, [linked here](https://poipiku.com/24765/2588160.html?10001) is a magnificent gift from the incredibly talented [Yunta!](https://twitter.com/yunta_0722) It's under a cut; click the little horizontal button below the R-18 icon. 

Yunta's art refers both to this fic, and to the "alternate universe" of my lighter/sillier comics on Tumblr which feature the unnamed "Acolyte" and "Vessel" as cuter versions Ako and Vess, usually in the background. You can find some of those [here,](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/620835346713853953/trouble-in-the-empire) [here,](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/622863211982635008/seeing-doubles) and [here.](https://ladybinary.tumblr.com/post/623220478857838592/double-escort-part-1)


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